


So Many Things That I Would Do (If I Had My Way With You)

by LucyFangirl, t0bemadeofglass



Series: The Mirrorverse Avengers Series [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Plug, BDSM, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Breathplay, Caning, Coercion, Collars, Complete, D/s-verse, Dark, Dark Character, Dildos, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Good Guy Bruce Banner, Hate Sex, Humiliation, Ice, Impact Play, Kinks, Leashes, M/M, Mental Coercion, Mirror Universe, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Objectification, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pain, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Steve, Possessive Tony, Power Imbalance, Prisoner of War, Read the tags!, Riding Crops, Sexual Coercion, Steve Rogers Has Issues, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Stark REALLY doesn't like being handed things, Vaginal Sex, Whump, mild temperature play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyFangirl/pseuds/LucyFangirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/pseuds/t0bemadeofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHIELD has acquired a new prisoner-of-war in their ruthless struggle against the Red Room, and Commander Steve Rogers is charged with deprogramming their prisoner by any means necessary.</p><p>Please read the tags!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> We do not own any of these characters and concepts and make no money off of them.
> 
> If you’re here, we’re assuming you’ve made it past the various alarming (enticing?) tags and are either A.) A dedicated deviant, B.) A dedicated flamer, or C.) You didn’t read the tags and failed to see that this is a DUB-CON STORY. It’s the dubbiest of the dub-cons. At least it starts off that way, and towards the end things get a little less dubby. (But more subby.) We can promise you this: a little bit of plot, a hell of a lot of smut, and generally decent spelling, grammar, and punctuation. Oh yeah, and probably triggers galore. But did we mention the smut? There’s a lot of it. Enjoy!

 

* * *

**Prologue**

The day that her life changed forever was a day like any other. She rose, she donned her uniform, she ate a spartan breakfast, she received her orders from Ivan, she left for her mission. It was a simple mission; all she had to do was deliver the goods at the rendezvous point, then return to base. Simple or not, Ivan would be pleased; she loved the glow of satisfaction in his eyes whenever he contemplated the success he had had with her, his most valued protege. And she took pride in herself; in serving the people who had taken her in as a lost child, who had kept her from becoming just another orphan about to become lost in the cold indifference of the vast and impoverished country. They had given her a life. She had given them her loyalty. They had given her a purpose. She had given them her existence. They had ensured that.

The simple mission quickly became complicated, almost from the beginning. She had a feeling she was being tailed, but though she couldn’t locate anyone it was enough to put her on edge. Then her contact was nearly ten minutes late--she was about to leave when the car finally rolled up into the alley.

The car window rolled down, and Natasha sauntered up to the man peering out at her. “You’re late. Almost too late.”

“So are you.”

The pain that pierced through her shoulder, down almost to her heart, was exquisite, and completely unexpected. She opened her mouth--to protest? to warn?--but not a sound came out. Reaching around, she groped at her shoulder until she felt the shaft of the arrow protruding out. With the last bit of her strength, she jerked it out of her body and looked in dismay at the purple feather fletching.

_Oh, hell,_ she thought, and howled a curse, just before she passed out.

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We own nothing here.
> 
> If you’re reading this, we’re assuming you’ve made it past the various alarming (enticing?) tags and are either A.) A dedicated deviant, B.) A dedicated flamer, or C.) You didn’t read the tags and failed to see that this is a DUB-CON STORY. It’s the dubbiest of the dub-cons. At least it starts off that way, and towards the end things get a little less dubby. (But more subby.) We can promise you this: a little bit of plot, a hell of a lot of smut, and generally decent spelling, grammar, and punctuation. Oh yeah, and probably triggers galore. But did we mention the smut? There’s a lot of it. Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

Steve Rogers wasn’t known to take his work lightly. He was a soldier who knew how to lead, and how to follow orders, having done anything and everything asked of him in order to achieve the rank he now held, a Commander of SHIELD.  Which meant when Director Fury, the last bastion of hope left in this piece-of-shit world in which they lived, ordered him to report to his office _immediately_ , Steve didn’t have to think twice. He handed over interrogation training to Agent Polchek and headed straightaway to the Director’s office.

He strode down the blank utilitarian halls, chin up in his usual belligerent manner, bright eyes fresh from a fight and surveying those who walked opposite him, all of whom kept their eyes down out of respect.  He loved watching them scuttle out of his way, the taste of their submission sweet as apple pie in his mouth. All of them knew better than to try and confront him when he pushed past them on his way to the lower quarters.  Once upon a time he’d had something to prove and would’ve seen those who showed even the slightest of resistance as an enemy, someone to be taken down and taught a lesson.  Now, however, everyone knew who he was, and after about hundred or so successful missions, (as well as Johan Schmidt’s head on a plate) he’d finally gotten what he wanted, the high rank and unquestioning, justified respect that went with it.  He wasn’t just a kid from Brooklyn anymore, and wouldn’t his ma be proud to see how strong he’d turned out?

As he knocked on Fury’s office door, his heart began to pound with anticipation. He knew, he _knew_ why Fury was bringing him in. Even considering it made him feel almost giddy with excitement.

“Enter.”

Steve did as he was commanded, and came to stand at full military attention before Fury. The Director looked amused for a moment, and then pleased, before he relented. “At ease, Commander.” 

Steve waited.

After a moment of cool assessment, Fury began to speak. “I suppose it may have come to your attention, Rogers, that SHIELD recently...acquired...an unexpected asset.”  
  
Steve’s mouth went dry and his heart pounded even more quickly. “I had...heard some things around base.”

“Because no one around here can keep a damned secret,” Fury grumbled. “Well,  you remember a long time back, you made a bet with me? You bet ten bucks that Barton couldn’t bring in the Black Widow.”

Not trusting himself to say anything, Steve just nodded.

“You owe me ten bucks, Rogers. We’ve got Natasha Romanov in the detention block.”

 _Goddamn_. _So it_ was _true_. Steve managed what he hoped was a cool nod. “Agent Barton is truly one of the best in his field.”

“Yeah, yeah, and now he really knows it. You know I’m gonna have to give him a raise, don’t you?” But this was the least of Fury’s concerns, and he fell into a meaningful silence. Finally he spoke again. “Rogers, there’s been a lot of discussion about what to do with the Black Widow. We’re keeping her alive at this time, because we’d like to see if we can deprogram her from her Red Room training and indoctrinate her sufficiently. But she’s one of the special cases that needs individualized attention. Rogers, you ready to take on the training of your personal deputy soldier-servant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There was a lot of debate,” Fury went on, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Given the needs of this particular subject, some on the committee thought that a more experienced...person would be a better choice.”  
  
Unable to stop himself, Steve blurted-- “Stark already _has_ Banner!”

Fury snorted. “Stark _bought_ Banner with the last computer system upgrade, and because he was the most logical choice. Stark’s had his turn.”

The Director was right--Stark had had his turn, and had done very well, indeed, the lucky bastard. Now Bruce Banner bent to Stark’s every whim and will without question or objection. His body still bore the marks of Stark’s teachings, and the lessons were reflected in his personality--the now exceptionally mild-mannered scientist-turned-rage monster displayed his scars proudly, without fear of what others thought, and if Stark could be so successful, well, there was no reason Steve wouldn’t be.  

But still, though it was galling, Steve even now retained a very basic, small kernel of fairness within him. “Barton was the one who captured her--”

“Barton does this for the thrill of the hunt. Once he’s captured his prey, he loses interest.” Fury shook his head over SHIELD’s maverick archer. “And Hill was due for another soldier-servant, but she’s got her hands full with two already, and I can’t spare her. You were the next logical choice.”

Fury pulled out a script and began to read, in a dull monotone which simply highlighted the implied titillation behind the words. Because he had given these orders scores of times before, however, they held far less interest for him than they did Steve.  “Commander Rogers, I hereby remand former Red Room Agent Natasha Romanov to your custody until further notice. Your responsibilities include, but are not limited to, the deprogramming, decommissioning, and indoctrination of the aforementioned agent until such time as she is able to serve as a deputy soldier-servant to you. Under the Geneva Accords of 2003, as an multi-governmental organization, we are not bound by the Geneva Protocols, so you are hereby authorized to use any means, methods, or force necessary to compel the prisoner to acquiesce. Do you accept the responsibility?”  
  
“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Good. Now get the hell out of my office and get to work. I don’t need to tell you that you’ve got your work cut out for you. Red Room operatives are notoriously tricky to outwit and overpower. We’re counting on you. We think she’s worth the investment.”

“Yes, sir.” Steve gave a jaunty salute and turned to head out the door. Before he left, he heard Fury’s voice float out behind him. “Report to her detention cell at oh-eleven-hundred. But before that, go call your buddy Stark and gloat for me.”

* * *

 

Steve had worked a very long time to get to this point. Now he was getting a personal deputy agent--a soldier servant under his direct command, a  mark of distinction, indeed.  Not often were such honors given, even less so when the target in question was nearly as famous as he was.  Over the past few days, rumors and news of the woman had slipped their way into the conversations of nearly everyone on the base, leaving a funny taste in Steve’s mouth as she gained notoriety seemingly overnight. The situation had practically _begged_ for Steve to impose his control. Now Fury had granted him that control.

She was all his, waiting for him to mold her to his preferences, to break her in and bring her over to their side to be used not only as an instrument of his pleasure, but as a weapon, a tool to further their campaign.  Without SHIELD the world would collapse, but it seemed that not all were opposed to the idea.  This woman had been one of them, but with her on their side, doing their bidding?  Russia would be a walk in the park.  

“Don’t break her too fast,” Stark had warned him with a laugh and a clap on the back when Steve had told him the good news, gloating when he’d sought the man in the mess hall just before he’d gone to Natasha’s detention block.  “They’re not fun that way. Relish it."

Steve just rolled his eyes and shrugged the man’s hand off, resenting the advice, however well-intended it had been.  “I’ll do what I want, Stark.  You had your chance, now I’ve got mine.”

He wetted his lips as he paused outside the door to the cell they were keeping her in, disguised as her newest accommodations. His hand hovered an inch or so from the keypad that would allow him access.  Only him; he’d chosen the numeric passcode himself.  He allowed himself ten seconds.  Ten bleeding seconds to savor the anticipation, the eager thrum of his heart in his ears, the blood stirring in his groin as he thought of all the ways he would teach the imprisoned agent that he would always be the one in power--above her in every sense of the word--and nothing she had ever done or could do would change that.  With a grin spreading his lips wide he tapped in the sequence on the number pad and waited as the door split in half to allow him entrance.   _How poetic,_ he thought, before striding in.  

She was already waiting for him on the bed, her eyes nearly as blue as his and filled with such delicious hate and fury that his smile seemed insulting in comparison.  Christmas, it seemed, had come early, and they’d left him the best present to unwrap.  Her wrists were handcuffed above her head to the bed she’d been placed on, the mattress thin and worn (she’d get better things, better treatment, once she began to comply, once he’d _broken_ her) and he eyed the red, nearly-bloody wrists where the skin had begun to chafe as she struggled.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice lilting with the callous taunt as he cocked one eyebrow,  daring her to say anything in retaliation.  

“Oh, I cannot imagine why I would ever want to,” she bit back, voice thick with her Russian accent.  “This place makes the perfect vacation.”  Without warning she spat in his face, her own blank save the fire in her eyes.  

Steve’s hand moved slowly as it wiped the saliva from his skin, adopting the cool, controlled exterior of a soldier facing off against an enemy who could smell weakness like a shark smelling blood in the water.  He’d seen the case file, knew how good she was at reading people, how strong she truly was thanks to a potent cocktail of training since she was a child and a knock-off serum similar to that which he’d been injected with.  Hell, he’d even put money against Clint’s return with the Russian in tow, assuming that even as good as the archer was there was no one that would be able to take down the Black Widow.  

He’d never been more happy to owe ten bucks to Fury in his life. Ten bucks in exchange for possession of the Black Widow, and total control of her--despite the work it would take to break her body and spirit, Steve knew he had gotten a fine deal.   

Slowly he stepped around the room, divesting himself of the blue button-up he’d chosen for the day, fingers sure as they maneuvered each button through the hole, letting Natasha watch him, waiting for her reaction.  He was nearly certain she thought herself in danger, that he’d be one who was easily provoked, but Steve was a patient man when it came down to it. No way was he about to spoil the goods in favor of a quick rage and firm hand.  That would come later, when he had brought her to the edge of defeat, when she was ready to see how firmly he would trample her spirit beneath his authority. He felt his heart and his cock jolt at the idea, as unbidden images filled his mind: her tear-stained face, her lips parted in defeated gasps, her voice cracking with pleas for mercy and release, her legendary body at his disposal.  Oh, he would have her like that in time. But this time, this process, was in its own way every bit as delightful.

Natasha was growing restless, shifting atop the thin cotton bedspread, the jangling of the handcuffs against the metal frame of the bed a sweet prelude to what he was certain he’d be hearing soon enough.  Perhaps he’d even take her in handcuffs, revel in the way that she was unable to do anything against him but simply, helplessly accept everything he thrust at her--thrust _in_ her.  If she wasn’t crying out in the end for him to finish her off, well, he’d consider himself a failure.  

Steve Rogers was no failure.  

* * *

 

Natasha wasn’t quite sure what had happened.  One moment she’d been on a mission for Ivan, and despite a couple of delays, everything seemed to be going as planned. Then she’d felt an arrow hit her in the back of her left shoulder, just piercing her heart, she was certain.  It had taken her less than a minute to black out, her hand having risen to yank the damn arrow from her back, and having recognized the purple arrow feathers she’d sworn with her last conscious breath, furious that she’d been beaten, bested when her back was turned.  The next thing she knew she was chained up to this fucking bed, presented to this bastard in front of her as though she was a god-damned trophy nearly more than she could bear.  When she had spat at him and he hadn’t risen to her provocation, however, she bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood.  She’d heard much about Commander Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, but never before had she thought him to be someone to suffer a slight without a quick retaliation.  Arrogance, hot-headedness, and unthinking rashness were distinct American traits, ones she’d fully anticipated to be displayed in the Commander’s actions, but he did nothing of the sort.  

Much as she hated to admit it, she was almost impressed by his restraint, but then she supposed he hadn’t gotten to that rank by fucking and killing his way to the top as she’d had to.  

The indignity, the hot embarrassment of it all only fed her anger and made her lash out, striking him with her foot the moment he stepped close enough that she could land a blow to his right shoulder.  While the kick would’ve sent any other full grown man to his knees with a hiss and curse of pain, the Commander simply moved with the kick and caught her ankle, his meaty hand closing around it in an unyielding grip.

When he pressed his lips to her ankle a damned shiver involuntarily rolled its way up her spine. But soft lips on her skin turned to sharp teeth as Rogers nipped at her, not at all gently, a very firm statement that he thought himself the one in charge.

The hell of it was, the fact that she was the one immobilized on a bed, and he was the one standing over her, was a pretty powerful indication that he _was_ the one in charge. 

“You’ve got yourself in quite the predicament,” Steve observed as he let go of her leg and stepped away from the bed. “I’m going to make this part very easy for you, and explain. I hold the power of life and death over you. You’re mine--a prisoner of war. SHIELD owns you. If you want to live, you will do so only by learning how best to please me.”

The handcuffs rattled as Natasha presented him with a very rude gesture that transcended all language barriers.

Steve smiled, but now there was an edge to it. “I’ll teach you not to do that soon enough. Here’s what you need to remember for now: I am, now and forever, your master.” 

Soon after that, he left her, still bound to the bed, still defiant, and still beset with many unanswered questions. He turned the lights off, leaving her in a solid darkness, alone with her thoughts and a growing sense of dread. She’d been trained to withstand all sorts of interrogation and torture techniques, but the fact of the matter was any time before when she had been captured, it had been part of her own plan. But now, she was held here completely against her will, trapped by circumstances and people beyond her control, and with not a clue as to what would come next.

* * *

 

What came next was nothing like what she was trained for, and Steve made damn well sure of it.  He barely let the woman sleep the first week she was with him, often waking her up at odd hours and pulling her from the bed. He quickly established a routine of publicly displaying his ownership of her as he led her around with her hands cuffed in front of her, dragged along by a chain that he held tightly in his hands as he went about his daily business.  He loved showing her off like that, her head bowed and teeth clenched as she shot covert glares at him and everyone who passed, holding in all the names she’d love to call them, focusing on the horrible things she had brewing in her mind--which gave her a brief mental reprieve from her awareness of the torment of being treated like a damn pet.

Once day, as he had jerked her chain more roughly than usual,  she made the mistake of snarking at him. "Why don't you just put a fucking collar on me if you're going to be so damned possessive?”

When he came back the next day with a thick black collar bearing red lacing, with her name etched into a fucking dog tag dangling on the front, she wished she’d just swallowed her tongue when she had the chance.  

He’d made her beg to keep it from being put on.  Not just beg with her words.  No, that wasn’t thorough enough for Steve, it seemed, his smirk deepening as she stared up at him with less-than-hidden terror in her eyes. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Get. On. Your. Knees.”  Each word was a bullet to her ego, deflating it and ripping it to shreds as his eyes burned into hers and he took a step closer.  “I won’t tell you a second time, kitten.”

She bristled, already hating that fucking nickname and the way it came out smooth and cloaked in his voice, making her stomach knot.  

Suddenly he kicked her legs out from underneath her when she didn’t move, and in just as quick of a flash he’d snapped the collar around her throat and tightened it so that breathing became difficult, the leather biting into her skin as surely as his words bit into her vanity.   

“Kitten, you’ve got two strikes against you right now.   You really want to put a third on that?” he asked, breath hot and sending shivers up her spine as he spoke.  Swallowing became hard, breathing even more so as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to call on memories of Russia.  On home.  What had Ivan taught her about pulling herself out of her body when she started to panic--

A firm slap against her ass snapped her out of it, forcing a mingled cry of surprise and injury from her mouth.   

“Where the fuck do you get off--?”

This time she was pressed down hard to her hands and knees, Steve’s boot on her head as he pressed it into the floor.  Her teeth split open her bottom lip with the force of how hard she bit down to keep herself from whimpering, the toe of Steve’s shoe shoving her forehead into the cold, metal floor.  

“Kitten.  Last chance.  I said I wanted to hear you beg.”  

Damn the man for sounding so pleased with himself, and double damn him for thinking he could do this to her. The minute she got her hands free she’d wrap them around his fucking thick neck and squeeze until she watched the life dwindle from his eyes.  She tried to shift one of her legs up, sure that if she could just get the right angle that she’d be able to hit him in the balls.  Maybe she’d even render him useless, impotent, and he’d have no choice to leave her alone.

Another slap on the ass, the same spot as the previous except with much more force, actually coaxed a muffled shout from her.  The agents who walked around them did nothing, and embarrassed tears started in the corners of Nat’s eyes.  She’d been through so much in her life and yet . . .and yet no one had degraded her like this.  

What was worse, the most disgusting of things, the thing that made her want to rip Steve apart limb from limb was every time he called her kitten, or he came anywhere near other pet names, she felt the same heat pooling in her stomach and lower.  Though she loathed it and convinced herself it was nothing more than a fluke from too much sleep deprivation, it never stopped it from coming, as though she was Pavlov’s dog and the word was a fucking bell.  

_Sick freak._

“Please, Commander.”  She bit the words out, hating herself.  “Please don’t make me wear this.  Please, I promise I’ll be good.”  The last word tasted of vinegar in her mouth and the bile rose as quickly as the heat between her thighs intensified, adding to her self-loathing and shame.  

The boot on her head retracted, followed by a soft hand winding its way through her hair, stroking at the very point his foot had pressed into her skull not two seconds ago.  “Such a good girl,” he complimented, voice low and sweet, barely edged in a threat of what would happen if she ever did that again.  “My good little kitten.  Alright, I’ll take it off for now.”  

From there he’d led her into a meeting, demanding she sit at his feet when he took a seat opposite the Director. Fury said nothing about it, his eyes barely flickering to her as Steve ran a hand slowly through her hair, fisting in the red curls when she’d mutter something nasty under her voice, and then returning to stroking her softly after he’d whisper a threat about muzzling her as well as collaring.  

“I thought you’d be my good little girl, Natasha,” he said as he leaned closer.  Her body stiffened and she threw her head back to slam into his, nearly breaking his nose.  

Fury had said nothing aside from voicing a desire that the Commander not get blood on his new desk as Steve bent Natasha over it, ripping her pants down to smack at her backside again, harder and harder, until she screamed into the wood, tears staining the dark oak.  He forced her down to the floor after that, letting her breathe shakily as she tried to regain her self-control and respect, trying to ignore the fact that she’d just been treated like a disobedient child in front of the man who’d put her there.

* * *

 

He’d taken her to bed that night, but though he laid her down and cut her out of the catsuit SHIELD had provided her, taking decisive pleasure in the way her breath came in short gasps and how her cheeks tinted pink, then darker red as she realized her mistakes, he didn’t fuck her.  No, that would come later, after she begged for it.  After she demanded to be made his and his alone for the rest of their days.  

She tried to be brave, though, tried to keep an iron grip on her control, and he had to admire her for that.  He brought his lips down between her legs, ghosting his tongue over her slit, breathing in deep the smell of her and bringing one palm down to press hard against his cock, trying to relieve some of the tension.  Soon, he promised himself.  Very soon.  Even as he stuck his tongue out to press it to the heat of her cunt she kept her face as blank and emotionless as she could stand, jaw clenched to keep herself quiet and eyes staring up at the white ceiling.  

His hands clenched at the bedding on either side of her hips in his anger and disbelief.  She really thought that she’d be able to withstand him?  Keep from making a sound?  Oh, no.  She had much coming to her if she thought that she could get away with believing such a ridiculous plan worked.  Furiously, he dragged his tongue up her slit, suckling at the sweet, swollen offering in front of him as though she were his favorite piece of ripe fruit, driving her closer and closer to the edge until he felt her begin to tremble.  With perfect self-control he pulled away, slowing down to trail kisses down her inner thigh and then bite and suck at the soft skin he found there, marking her.  Claiming her.  No one else would ever dare to get this close to him and his woman, not unless he allowed it, and judging by the way her head tipped back and a few loose moans wormed their way through her throat she knew it, too.  

Steve could read her mixed emotions in the set of her shoulders, the flash of hesitancy and lust in her eyes as he complimented her, cajoled her, and picked her apart piece by piece.  She was a tricky one, and kept him alert, but he had to admit, he enjoyed her continued defiance. Conquering an easy target was hardly a challenge, after all, and he was discovering in himself a growing taste for tormenting her.

That’s why they had given him the Black Widow--Steve Rogers was never one to shirk from a challenge, and she was the challenge of his lifetime.

 


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We do not own any of these characters and concepts and make no money off of them.
> 
> If you’re here, we’re assuming you’ve made it past the various alarming (enticing?) tags and are either A.) A dedicated deviant, B.) A dedicated flamer, or C.) You didn’t read the tags and failed to see that this is a DUB-CON STORY. It’s the dubbiest of the dub-cons. At least it starts off that way, and towards the end things get a little less dubby. (But more subby.) We can promise you this: a little bit of plot, a hell of a lot of smut, and generally decent spelling, grammar, and punctuation. Oh yeah, and probably triggers galore. But did we mention the smut? There’s a lot of it. Enjoy!

* * *

After the collar fiasco Steve kept it with him at nearly all times, often threatening to bring it out. He’d parade her around like the whore she was, he would tell her, fingering the D-ring on the collar as he watched her eyes widen and her legs press a little harder together, denying to herself what she felt.  

Good.  His triumph would be all the sweeter for it.  

Once or twice he made her wear it while she was chained to the bed, his fingers slowly moving the zipper of her pants downward to be slipped from her shapely, pale legs, his skin ghosting over hers until he watched every exposed inch of her rise in goosebumps.  Often he chased the trails with his lips, demanding she be as vocal as she could be.  He loved hearing her try to hold in the moans he knew bubbled just beneath the surface. The tremor in her body from the effort to keep them quiet went right to his dick, making him hard in an instant.  He pressed up against her so she could feel every inch of him and in turn he could feel the way her heart raced in what he knew were equal parts fear and desire.  

But he didn’t fuck her.  Not then, not just yet.  No, he would build her up each night, after he had handcuffed her back to the bed--now binding her legs, too, spread far apart and thus leaving her open and accessible--as though he would be fucking her. He’d slip his fingers into her always sopping wet cunt--often deriding her for her wanton, uncontrollable lust-- or sometimes rewarding her with his mouth, sucking and fingering her until he felt her growing closer and closer to the brink of orgasm.  Never did he let her come, though, preferring to keep her on edge, wanting it, wanting to beg for it, hating herself for it. He kept her near the brink as he fingered and suckled her, watched her strain against her bindings, relishing the clank of the handcuffs against the bed rails, loving their sound as they indicated her futile struggles to escape his cruelty and her own shameful, breaking will.

She’d bite back her whimpers each night, her pupils blown wide and voice cracking as she told him to go to hell, tipping her head back onto the pillow as he’d bite her inner thigh and turn her onto her side after removing the cuffs on her ankles.  He’d give her ten smacks on each cheek for her rudeness, watching how she twitched underneath him as the skin reddened.  One night, after a long day in which she had been more defiant than usual, he removed his belt and used that, loving how she screamed in pain and humiliation, loving as her flesh grew red and sore--and yet noticing after he had slipped his fingers into her cunt that she was wetter that he had ever felt her before.  

After that--after pinpointing this very revealing tool of control--he began to ponder more and more the possibility of using the belt.

* * *

“How’s it going, Commander?”  Director Fury just had one of those damn voices, the kind that pushed Steve right to attention, that demanded respect and compliance even from one as strong-willed as Steve.  He wondered how long it would take Fury to break someone in, and a thinly veiled shudder ran down his body.  He couldn’t imagine what methods the Director would use.  

_Perhaps he should ask._

“Sir?”

“With your newest acquisition.  Your Russian girl.  How’s she coming?  I want her combat ready within the next month; am I going to get my wish?”   Fury brought his one eye up from where he’d been staring at the paper in front of him, his hand poised just centimeters from the signature space.

Steve swallowed. “It’s coming along, Sir,” he finally managed to say, standing up a little straighter as one of his hands tightened over his wrist.  He supposed that was the nice way of saying it.  Natasha wasn’t exactly docile, nor was he anywhere near happy with his progress, and if he wasn’t happy, well, there was no way in hell that Fury would be.  

Because he was Nick Goddamned Fury, the man knew something was up, and he pinned Steve with a glare. “What’s the delay, Rogers?”

“Well, Sir, you know what they say about not wanting to spoil the child by sparing the rod?  I’m afraid too much pain will--.”

“You think I give a fuck what you want to do with her, Rogers? Don’t go apologizing for any nasty business you entertained doing to her. I gave her to you because I know you’d get results.  You’re a good man, Commander, but sometimes you have to do things you might not think are pleasant. Remember your orders:  any means, methods, or force necessary. You do what has to be done, you hear me?  I don’t care what it takes. _Don’t_ spare the rod. Use the rod, _break_ the fucking rod, then get more rods if you need to. I wanted her ready to start training a week ago.”  Fury’s voice was nothing more than a low growl but Steve would’ve taken shouting over that any day.  Now he felt like a child, being rebuked by his parent for getting a B on his report card rather than an A.  Swallowing hard, Steve nodded his head and waited until the Director dismissed him, but not before the man at the desk said the single most important thing in their conversation.  

“You know, from what I heard you were a man who could live up to your reputation as an asset to this team, one who was dependable to get the fucking job done.  I never thought you’d be one to shirk a duty, especially one as pleasant as breaking the Black Widow. Too bad you don’t seem to be man enough for the task.”

The rebuke rang in Steve’s ears as he bowed his head and forced out an apology for his failures--his fucking _failures_ \--before he disappeared out of the room.  As he strode quickly back to his room he couldn’t bring himself to even look up, his mood too black.  An agent, a level two based on his uniform and badge, accidentally knocked shoulders with him.  Before the man could so much as blather out an apology Steve had landed his fist into the man’s jaw, breaking it without so much as a second thought.  

“Don’t fucking touch me.  Don’t you know who I am?” he demanded as he stared down at the whimpering agent.  There was a silence that closed in the corridor, pressing hard on his chest as he fled the room.  

Fury wanted him to break the rod on Natasha?  So be it.  

 

* * *

Natasha was dozing when Rogers slammed into her cell an hour later.

“Wake up!” he ordered, his voice loud and sharp as he fisted his hands into her hair and hauled her into as much of a sitting position as he could with her hands bound. Right away she could tell there was something different about him; his control seemed to be frayed, his movements tense. The rage fairly radiated off of him, and Natasha should have been frightened. Instead she simply regarded him with cool, assessing eyes. Very few things could make a soldier angry like that.

“What’s wrong?” she purred in a sweet voice. “Did Daddy Fury yell at you?”

“Shut up.” He said very quietly this time.  His hands worked to roll up his sleeves, his eyes assessing her slowly.  He’d begun keeping her from wearing clothes so that he had access to her whenever he wished, and also out of a desire to humble and humiliate her, but it hadn’t worked yet.  She’d simply adapted, as though all too used to it, and instead utilized her body as best she could so that she got as much attention as possible.  Thinking of this only made Steve more angry, and he stepped closer with large paces to grip her chin tightly.  

“Oh, he must have said something to set you off,” she teased, her shoulders relaxing as she caught his eyes in her own bright ones.  It only pissed him off more and he stopped just short of raising his hand to slap her.  No.  He wouldn’t llet himself do that; such actions were too obviously bids for power, and not humbling enough.  Instead his hand grabbed her shoulder and, after he’d undone her cuffs in a hurry, he forced her to her feet and pinned her against the wall so one of his hands could clasp her throat.  That certainly got her attention, her hands moving to scratch at his arm and the back of his hand.  He could read the fear in her eyes, the certainty that this, _this_ was the end for her--and while it wasn’t , _she_ didn’t know that. And so she was afraid, and Steve would use that fear to his advantage.

It was time he gave her good reason to fear him, but her punishment needed to be far more severe than just fear. She had tried to make a fool of him and oh, how he would make her pay for that.  He didn’t pull his hand back from her throat until he felt her pulse growing weaker, her chest heaving slower, and her eyes beginning to flutter.  Only then did he release her, letting her fall into his arms, still pinning her up against the wall but this time with his hips, cock jutting into her hips.  The scent of her arousal hit the air and his eyes flashed for the briefest of moments.  

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, his lips twisting into a grin as she coughed and gasped and rubbed her red throat.  He moved her hand away and instead pressed his forearm against her throat once more.  The pressure was lighter this time, not enough to make her choke and gag from a lack of air, but just enough to remind her that he, not she, held the power over her life.  He was the Alpha, she the Omega; he the master, she the slave, and the sooner she learned her damn place, well, the better off they’d both be.

While he held her in place with his one arm, his other hand roved down her body, delighting in the way her cheeks flushed and her lips parted as he took one breast in his free hand and squeezed, brought his mouth down to take her nipple in his lips and sucked so hard her moan walked the fine line between a noise of pain and pleasure. When he began to worry the nipple with his teeth, more pain and protest found its way into her voice, but at the same time, the scent of her arousal grew even stronger.  

“Mm, I love it when you fight against giving in to me,” Steve whispered against her skin, biting into her shoulder as he traced one hand further down to her center, worrying her clit with his thumb until she was shivering and a trembling mess beneath him. He felt how wet she was and smiled again. “But it’s time to give up now, Natasha.  You’re mine.  You’ll always be mine.  Give into me for now and for ever.”  He growled and she bit hard at her bottom lip to keep herself from moaning at his words and the heat that pooled in her stomach and between her legs at his words.  “Accept it, my kitten.” He pressed harder against her clit, relishing the feel of her struggle against his hand.

“Let me go you, pompous ass,” Natasha said, resorting to name callings as she did every time she grew closer and closer to a climax.  He pressed his forearm harder against her throat as he whispered in her ear all of the terribly wonderful things he wanted to do to her, all the promises he would keep if she would just let go and accept him.

But she wouldn’t--not now, not yet. He could see it in her eyes. Well, fine; Fury had told him to do whatever it took, to spare the rod, to man up. So Steve pulled away from Natasha abruptly, moving quickly and hauling her back to the bed. He flung her down onto the mattress, belly down, and before she could move away, he was refastening her cuffs to the bedpost.

From her position, Natasha could see very little--but she heard well enough the ominous sound of Steve removing his belt, its buckle clanking softly against itself, an embarrassingly lewd promise of--

The sound of the leather belt slapping against Natasha’s skin and the pain lancing across her ass took her unawares, and she cried out before she could stop herself. But then the belt was coming down, again and again and again, harder than it ever had before. He paused once to haul her to her hands and knees, forcing her ass to present itself clearly as a vulnerable target, and then he went to town again.

What happened next was a memory she was sure would stick with her for years to come .

Time no longer mattered; she could only measure it in terms of the unceasing lashes he gave her. Rogers chuckled as she began to cry out over each increasingly painful blow. Every now and then he stopped and began to stroke her pussy, mocking her for her sluttish response to him and his abuse. And then as he felt her pleasure build, he’d withdraw his fingers and take up his belt once more and resume the rhythmic blows. _Slap, slap, slap,_ he continued on in this manner for longer than he ever had before, and Natasha found herself slipping into a state of numbed exhaustion. Her ass and thighs were on fire, and the blows kept coming, and Natasha began to realize that perhaps this would never end, that this was her life now, that she was worth so little that Russia would not come for her, now or ever. They had given her up, and she was stuck here in this nightmare of torture and shame and desire and pain.

_Slap slap slap._

And then she was crying--not just tears leaking out of her eyes, but full-fledged sobs jerking out of her chest in time with Rogers’ strikes. She’d buried her head in her pillow to muffle her cries and hide her shame, but Rogers had paused long enough to fist her hair and pull her head up and hiss, “Your tears are mine. And I get to see them.” To prove his point, he stroked a finger across her face, catching some of the dampness before it dried, and then licked his finger. “Tastes so sweet,” he said, before resuming his task.

_Slap slap slap._

Eventually, she had wept herself weak, and collapsed on the bed, her hands and knees no longer able to support her in the exquisite agony she endured, and even then Steve didn’t immediately cease his blows. There was no mercy in him, only barely controlled rage and desire to possess, to inflict pain, to wrench submission from her. He beat her through the last of her tears, and then, finally, he stopped. Natasha was too weary to even raise her head or acknowledge him.

Steve rested his hand against her tangled red hair for a moment, sensing the exhaustion in her went more than into her bones. It was permeating into her spirit. Natasha was coming closer to her capitulation.

* * *

 

The next day, he’d put the collar on her, and when he led her through SHIELD she was completely unclothed, the stripes and bruises on the back of her body on display for all to see.  Even despite the jealousy he often felt that came along with letting everyone else see her, letting them take a look at his prize, Steve wanted her to be humiliated and feel as though she had nothing left to lose.  He was sure that only then would she really break.  

What surprised him most, however was that she didn’t even ask him to take off the collar, the one thing she hated most.  Instead she stared up at him with a mix of humiliation, confusion, and brief flashes of desire. He pulled her closer by the ring and crashed his lips against hers. It was too brutal and demanding to be called a kiss, but what other word for it was there?

"Tell me what you want, kitten," he murmured. "Beg for it."

For half a moment he thought he'd done it, watching as she slowly sank down to her knees without any prompting, rubbing her head against his knee as if she was just an oversized feline.

He wasn't expecting her to find the pressure point in the back of his knee and press down hard enough that his leg gave out.  As he crashed down she rose swiftly, kicking him hard under the chin before she started to sprint away, the chain he usually led her by dragging on the floor so that when his hand caught it and jerked her back she came hurtling down beside him.  The agents who’d witnessed their mutual humiliation scattered as Steve snarled up at Nat, crawling over her until he had her hands pinned up above her head and his hand at her throat.  

“Don’t you ever fucking do that again!” he shouted, his face mere centimeters from hers, losing the control he’d done so well at holding over her.  It was enough to make her smirk, though moments later she wished she hadn’t as he pressed hard at a pressure point on her collar.  Her world went dark seconds later.  

It was worth it to at least see him lose control.  

  
  
  



	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We do not own any of these characters and concepts and make no money off of them.
> 
> If you’re here, we’re assuming you’ve made it past the various alarming (enticing?) tags and are either A.) A dedicated deviant, B.) A dedicated flamer, or C.) You didn’t read the tags and failed to see that this is a DUB-CON STORY. It’s the dubbiest of the dub-cons. At least it starts off that way, and towards the end things get a little less dubby. (But more subby.) We can promise you this: a little bit of plot, a hell of a lot of smut, and generally decent spelling, grammar, and punctuation. Oh yeah, and probably triggers galore. But did we mention the smut? There’s a lot of it. Enjoy!

* * *

 

Steve kept the room dark as she laid on the bed, running his hand over the front of his face and rubbing his jaw in it as he surveyed her.  Last night he’d thought he’d been getting so close, he could practically taste her submission, but now the sweetness of it had dissolved into bitter resentment when she proved him wrong, damn her.  But how?  How was she still so resilient one moment and so malleable the next?  He’d thought about going to Stark, but knowing the bastard all he’d do would be gloat. Ally though he might be, and an effective sadist, too, but Steve was not yet ready to share Natasha with Stark. He wanted the victory all to himself, if possible, wanted to know that he’d been the one to break the Widow and claim her as his own, build her up to be everything he’d ever wanted in a woman right at the snap of his fingertips.  

He supposed he could try and reprogram her, give her a set of keywords that would involve pushing her into different mindsets.  He’d heard it had worked in China, then again in Taiwan, SHIELD manufacturing soldiers that could go from killers to school teachers with one word, then back again, but not for the first time he feared what that would do to her mind.  It was still, perhaps, a viable option once he broke her down.  But how would he get there?  How the hell was he supposed to penetrate all the years of training she’d had, just like him, to craft and create the perfect soldier?  To shatter the already-glued-back-together seemed dangerous...and yet promising.

He could do it.  He had to do it.  

He composed himself when she finally came to. He sat back in his seat as he surveyed her, fingers steepled on his lap.  She groaned as she shook her head slowly, trying to get used to the ache he knew she’d feel in her skull, and he wanted her fully conscious when he had his way with her.  His eyes were dark, hooded, as he watched her look up at him.  Her arms weren’t bound for once, and experimentally she pulled them to her side.  

“Seems like you’ve got a lot of pent-up energy,” Steve remarked with a small smirk when she sat up, rubbing her wrists.  

“Well, when you’re used to fighting and running all your life a vacation tends to leave you with an unsatisfied longing to kick someone’s ass,” she muttered. He noticed then that her accent was starting to deteriorate the more time she spent with him, her vocabulary taking on the words that Steve used the most. Already she was losing her grip on aspects of her life before SHIELD.

Natasha watched as he didn't even rise from his seat, but sat there, simply relaxed and waiting for her to move. She made it to her feet before he moved in front of her, his broad shoulders filling in the doorway. One of her fists clenched at her side as she tried to push her way past him.  He moved with her own motion, one hand taking her wrist and spinning her around so her back was to his front.  His lips brushed against the shell of her ear.  

“Is that all you’ve got, kitten?” he purred.  “I thought you wanted to kick someone’s ass.”  He pushed her away from him, watching her stumble forward.

Her eyes burned when she turned to face him, her leg striking out to hit him in the chest, but he caught it as he had the very first night.  Rather than kissing it, though, he flipped her over onto her back.  Not even a few moments later she’d jumped back to her feet and crouched low to try and swipe at his feet.  He jumped over them and allowed her to try and strike him as she rose to his level, aiming for the usual places: the throat, groin, stomach, anywhere she thought she could get a cheap shot in, but Steve was better at reading her movements than she was used to, having grown sloppy from her time in confinement.  He dodged the moves with ease, smiling and laughing as she grew more and more angry at his lack of a response and her inability to sink a hit.  He couldn’t help it, though, far too entertained with how hard she was trying to hit him, to make him suffer as she had.  When one of her feet finally struck hard against his upper thigh he decided that enough was enough and, grabbing one of her wrists, threw her back onto the bed.  

Within a minute he was atop her, one hand pressed hard against her throat and the other in his mouth, his tongue sucking and wetting his fingers before he pressed two of them, without warning, into her cunt.  She shivered and bucked her hips at the invasion, eyes going wide as she gasped for breath, a curse and his name mingling on her lips.  He pistoned his hand inside her, stretching her out and getting her ready and graciously allowing her to be aroused enough to accept his cock more easily.  He was sick of waiting, sick of controlling himself, and making her wait hadn’t worked so perhaps a change in strategy would take her off guard enough that she’d slip up and yield.  

If not, well, at least he’d get something from it.  

Her hips bucked against his, but in her eyes he watched the way distrust filtered in behind the building pleasure, sure that any moment he’d pull away from her, deny her that which he’d been making her crave for some time.  He did remove his hand from inside her, delighting in the soft cry that left her swollen lips, the sound thin and raspy from her lack of air, and with his freed hand he undid his belt and pulled his cock free.  Spitting into his hand quickly he stroked himself once, twice, then without further preamble thrust his cock into her.  Her eyes widened and her lips parted, but for a moment she made not a sound.

“Oh.  Fuck,” she whispered finally, struggling to overcome the shock to her system as she squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deep through her nose. For so long she had been craving this, dreading this, and now it was happening. He was above her, taking her, finally forcing her to bend and break. 

Steve took advantage of her momentary stupor to chain her hands above her head with the handcuffs he usually left on her.  She didn’t fight them, he noticed, and wondered if perhaps she was finally growing accustomed to her restrained state. A very pleasing thought, but distracting--so he focused in on her, watching as she arched her back with his movement as he removed himself slowly from her, then slammed back in, rocking the bed frame hard against the wall.  He didn’t dare stop from there, drunk on the feel of her heat and the slow, pleasing burn he got from the first few thrusts before she became aroused enough to accommodate him.  Her cunt was so impossibly tight around him. He was by no means a small man, and the poor girl hadn’t had sex since she’d been there.  Steve had wanted to make sure that when he did fuck her he would ruin sex with any other man for her.  Forever.  If he could help it he would be her first and last--if not her only--in this new life, and with his hands moving to firmly take her hips once more he thrust into her as hard as he could, his own head tipping back with pure ecstasy.  

If he was enjoying it, that was nothing in comparison to her, judging by the noises that Natasha was making, each of her cries shooting straight to the heat in his stomach and the rushing in his ears as his orgasm crept closer. She was even the first to tip over the edge, as was the way he liked it, and when her walls tightened around him he swore he saw stars, loving the way that she felt, as though she’d been made especially for him.  Offhandedly, he wished she’d been a virgin when they first met so he could pave the way for her, but as she rotated and ground her hips hard against his he changed his mind again and chose experience over innocence.  

God above, she felt like heaven, and when her eyes locked onto his and it was his name that came out of her mouth, coated in a moan and the slightest of smiles on the corners of her lips, he shouted as he released himself inside her, his hands fisting themselves in the bedding just on either side of her head.  As he came down from his ecstasy, he felt her cunt tighten around him once more, and his hand found her throat and clenched hard, choking her as she convulsed beneath him, around him, the pleasure so raw and shared between the two that he was sure he had a second orgasm right after hers.  

 _Fuck_.  He’d never had it that good before. Never before had he ever had anyone in his complete control like this, and it was a heady, potent thing, actually surpassing all of his imaginings. And this was only the first time.

With some reluctance, Steve rolled off of her and moved to stand and at least wash himself off, grateful that the Red Room had done at least one thing right with Natasha’s training by making it impossible for her to have children.  His back to her, his lips twisted with the idea of all the things he could do to her without the fear of repercussions.

She was half asleep by the time he came back, her eyes lidded and her breathing slow.  He couldn’t help but notice the way her neck had bruised under his grip, and how the mottled purple was absolutely gorgeous as it crept up her pale skin, marking and proving his possession.  He considered, for a brief moment, what it might be like to mark her forever, tell the whole world that she was his by tattooing his mark on her.  

His cock stirred with the idea and he gave a devilish grin that he was glad Natasha couldn’t see.  She also didn’t see as he moved closer to her and arranged himself between her legs, his cock already swollen and heavy again. Half-asleep, Natasha gave a soft mumble of protest, but God help him, that only made him harder, and so he gave in to the craving and drove into her once more, the mixed fluids from his come and her arousal the only lubricant he needed.

If Natasha had been hoping to achieve a solid night’s sleep, she had sorely miscalculated, Steve reflected with relish as he bottomed out and felt her body fully awaken beneath him, and he drove the point home as a soft, sleepy moan made its way past her battered windpipe.

She was finally his.

* * *

 

She let him grow hopeful for a few days, biding her time and riding out his newfound love for fucking her with a fervor she hadn’t known . . . well, ever.  He was talented, well-endowed, and he seemed to instinctively tap right into all the things she’d never allowed herself to admitting she desired.  There had been no room for weaknesses or enjoying her job, after all, in the Red Room because it would only compromise her on a mission.  But with Steve it only seemed to make him more enthusiastic, not considering for the quickest of moments that she might have more control over her emotions than he gave her credit for.  It made her smirk inwardly every time he groaned and came inside her, his face losing its usual hardness in favor of a trust that came with his ridiculous, misplaced confidence in his own methods.  Meanwhile, she got what she’d been waiting for since he started his ridiculous game of building her up to try and break her down.  His arrogance was astounding, and if she played her cards right it was the key to getting out.  

From then on she kept her tongue as best she could and he started giving her things back.  First her clothing (“I don’t like everyone being able to see you in all your glory.  You’re all _mine_ ,” he’d growled that night as he bit into her shoulder hard enough to draw blood), then her freedom during the evening by removing the handcuffs.  It wasn’t quite an improvement, however, Steve just using his arms as shackles, wrapping them tight around Natasha instead.  Still, she took these both as victories, taking to plotting her own escape as she smiled demurely up at him, biting her bottom lip before turning her eyes back to the floor.  Any sort of sign of submission was enough to make him go crazy, and with a groan he crossed the room and trapped her hard between the wall and his steel frame.  

At least he was a good kisser.  

By the time Nat finally had a plan, he’d started to trust her much more than she thought he’d ever allow himself to.  She was quiet one evening, as she seemed to be more often than not, perched at his feet as he ran his hands slowly through her hair, pulling at the snarls that seemed to magically appear in her hair.  She squirmed, biting her bottom lip and looking up at him.  

“Commander.  Sir,” she murmured the last word, already knowing she was testing the waters by speaking out of turn, but her voice seemed to strike his curiosity enough that he looked down and smiled.  

“Yes, kitten?”

She shivered at the name.  Damn him.  “I wondered if I might try something.  I know I’m not supposed to move unless given the instruction to, but, please, sir?” she asked, softening her voice into a timid plea.  He’d never been able to resist it when she begged, and though it made her stomach clench and her heart hammer in her chest to do so, she swallowed her pride and did it anyway.  His eyes flared with curiosity, head cocked slightly to the side.  

“What did you have in mind?”  

Throwing away her caution and worry that she might be pushing him too far, too fast, she stood slowly and turned so she was facing him.  With steady hands she pushed down the sleeves of the black and blue top he’d dressed her in, shimmying out of it so that she stood, supple breasts bared--why bother wearing a bra when he was just going to rip it off anyway?--and nipples hardening in the cold air.  The sudden intake of breath from him was all she needed, prompting her to continue, her fingers slowly undoing the button and zipper of her shorts, and just as slowly and tantalizingly as she had with the top she managed her way out of that as well until she stood, naked, for his eyes to see.  Her eyes flitted to his groin, watching him harden in front of her eyes as he wet his lips and leaned back in his chair.  Without having to be told, she sauntered forward, straddling him and bringing her hands to his.  

“I wanted to give myself to you.  Completely.  Willingly,” she whispered as she leaned closer to drag her lips over the stubble that covered his jaw.  His hips bucked into hers at her words and she had the strongest desire to laugh.   _Who was the whore now?_

Her hands moved to his shoulders, stroking them gently as she brought her hands down to the hem of his undershirt.  In the most sultry voice she could muster she asked if she could touch him, and when he gave her permission her hands smoothed the fine lines of his abdomen, feeling him shiver underneath her light caresses and groan as she raked her fingernails over his sides.  Her lips had trailed down to suck and whimper against his throat, mewling quietly just the way he liked, when he bucked his hips against her own.  Now that she was in control she found she could compartmentalize the pleasure, and was sure that in just a few seconds--just a few more--and he’d be vulnerable enough.  

As she’d guessed, he closed his eyes, and as an added bonus, tipped his head back in pleasure--allowing her enough time to drive her fist into his nose, jamming it upward so hard that if he’d been a mortal man it might have killed him.  Instead Steve snarled, and Nat jumped off him and kicked the chair to the ground.  He’d made the mistake of reprogramming the the doors so they responded to her as well, and because she wasn’t in chains, her flight was easier. She grabbed a blanket to cover herself with and sprinted down the halls.  She had, she figured, about a minute ahead of him--the blood from his broken nose would be enough immobilize him, at least temporarily.  Sure enough, she’d gotten pretty far before he heard him shout from where she’d left him three turns and a twenty second sprint ago.  Swallowing hard, she paused for a moment and assessed her surroundings--she was nearing the end of the corridor, and there were no more turns to make. Looking around, she caught sight of an open door and peeped in. The room was empty...and there was a loose ceiling tile. She slipped into the room quickly and shut the door behind her. After grabbing a chair, she managed to climb her way into the air ducts in the ceiling. There she sat for some time, very still and silent, sure that the fierce beating of her heart would give her away as surely as if she’d beaten a hammer against the metal walls.  

In the room beneath her, the door opened, then shut again.  Footsteps echoed around the empty room, and she was so very  glad that she’d managed to kick the chair away from where she’d jumped up just before she’d gotten away.  A pause, then the door opened and shut again.  Nat let out the breath she’d been holding, grinning in spite of herself as she pressed her forehead to the metal of the walls around her.  She couldn’t stay up here long, but she’d be damned if it wasn’t the best option she’d had in a long time.  A few more minutes ticked by before she dared to move, and even then it was just to stretch and sigh quietly, her breath fogging in front of her.  Only then, as she paid attention to it, did the shivering start and she forced herself to start moving. _Move or die,_ she told herself as she shifted her way through the ducts, blanket tied firmly around her chest.  

She’d just made it to the end of the duct, needing to make a decision whether she should go left or right, when something caught her ankle and yanked her back.  She screamed--and she wasn’t proud of it--as she kicked back against whoever had her.  

“You know, this means I’ve beaten you twice now.  You’re not really living up to your reputation,” Clint Barton said with a laugh and Nat tried to kick back harder. _Goddammit, not him, not again!_  He caught her second leg and held them tight together as one of his feet kicked out at one of the ceiling panels, causing a slice of light to burst into the narrow, dark duct.  “And you oughta know that I gained the name Hawkeye not just because of how good aim I have but, well, I nest.  You got too close, spider.  I eat people like you for breakfast,” he goaded as he dragged her further back.  She could see what he meant, though she struggled to make it as hard as she possibly could.  No way was she going quietly!  

“I can’t--I can’t go back, please don’t make me!” she cajoled, not above using the pleading female role to try and get the upperhand.  She forced her voice to waver and her eyes to fill with tears and fear as she finally caught sight of him in the light.  He barely flinched, pulling her further until he dropped out of the duct and she fell down with him--  

\--Right into Commander Steve Rogers’ tight grip, his hands already bruising her as he glowered down at the woman that he was supposed to have broken by now.

Shit. This time she didn’t have to fake the fear as she looked up into Steve’s face, which was a frightening mask of blood and blue eyes that were filled with a cold, scarcely-controlled rage.

“Hi, Steve,” she tried weakly.  

 


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We own nothing here. Nor do we make any money from this. We do lose sleep over it, though.
> 
> If you’re reading this, we’re assuming you’ve made it past the various alarming (enticing?) tags and are either A.) A dedicated deviant, B.) A dedicated flamer, or C.) You didn’t read the tags and failed to see that this is a DUB-CON STORY. It’s the dubbiest of the dub-cons. At least it starts off that way, and towards the end things get a little less dubby. (But more subby.) We can promise you this: a little bit of plot, a hell of a lot of smut, and generally decent spelling, grammar, and punctuation. Oh yeah, and probably triggers galore. But did we mention the smut? There’s a lot of it. Enjoy!

* * *

 

Things had been going so well, dammit all, and now they’d gone to hell in a handbasket.  Steve wasn’t sure who he was more angry at--Natasha for fooling him once more, or himself for being so arrogant as to underestimate her, _again_.

Well he’d never make that mistake again.  It had been bad enough he’d had to suffer a loud lecture from Fury, the Director’s words ringing through the damned hallways as he berated and cut Steve down until he stood about an inch from the ground, questioning not only his manhood but his ability, as a Commander, to do his damn job.  Steve had taken the brunt of his anger out on the punching bags in the training hall, although afterwards, he’d fucked Natasha so hard the bruises would linger on her wrists and hips for some weeks.  As he had doled out her punishment, he found himself remembering that she had her own serum in her blood--she was by no means made of glass, thankfully, or his fun would’ve been over by then.  

As much as he hated to admit it, he was running out of options, and out of time.  Fury had threatened to take away the redheaded she-devil, and even Steve’s position within SHIELD, asserting that if “One uppity bitch can get you tongue-tied and not thinking straight what the hell is gonna happen when you’re back out in the field and leading a battalion?”  Steve stomped, seething, from that meeting before crashing his shoulder into someone else’s as he wound his way to his room.  He opened his mouth to bawl out the bastard who’d been stupid enough to stay in his way, the words died on the tips of his tongue as his blue eyes caught a pair of brown ones, the subtle blue glow from beneath a Black Sabbath shirt as familiar as Steve’s own right hand.  

“Geez, remind me not to meet you in a dark alley sometime soon.  What, Fury got his dick up your ass about that stupid spy still?”

“You have no idea,” Steve groaned.  “I’ve got my own way of doing things, you know?  Why can’t he just accept that sometimes shit happens?”  Especially, it seemed, when one was dealing with the equivalent of a human time bomb.  

Then again . . . perhaps Stark would know something about that. If Stark had tamed _Bruce Banner_ , than perhaps he had some ideas for how best to handle Natasha.

Stark was eyeing him beadily. “Rogers? Something you got on your mind?”

Remembering where they were, Steve shrugged mutely. It was a testament to how well they could read one another when it came down to it that Stark understood immediately. He nodded at Steve, maintaining a thoughtful silence for another moment. “Swing by the mansion tonight, at seven. It’s been too long since we’ve caught up, and I have a bottle of scotch that you have to try--and don’t tell me you don’t drink, because I _know_ you like the taste of scotch. Plus, I have to show you this new thing that my Bruce does now.”

 

* * *

 

There were few people in the world that Steve considered to be a friend, and he was not at all convinced that Anthony Edward Stark was one of them. But they had fought in many battles together, had engaged in a certain amount of semi-friendly pissing contests, and had each others’ backs, so if nothing else, if Stark wasn’t a friend, he was certainly an _ally_. Steve had gritted his teeth and congratulated him when SHIELD had awarded him ownership of Dr. Bruce Banner, had celebrated with him when his dominance was firmly established, had genuinely tried to be pleased for him.

He and Stark had gone to each other before with problems and predicaments, and unless it was a life-or-death situation, the price was usually not free. It was one of their friendly competitions, to see who could one-up the other in terms of favors owed. It was not a perfectly pure and easy relationship, but in this rotten world, it was better than most.

And at the moment, it was the best option that Steve had before him. So he arrived at Stark’s home right at 7 on the dot that evening, and did so with a fair amount of confidence that this was the best, and perhaps only remaining, option.  Bruce opened the door and the collar was the first thing that Steve couldn’t help but notice.   _Italian leather, likely,_ he thought as the tamed scientist smiled demurely up at him and stepped aside to allow the Commander to enter.  The collar had a small padlock on the front D-Ring with Tony’s name on it, and, seemingly subconsciously, Bruce fondled it gently as he stared up at Steve.

“Good to see you again, Commander.  We miss having you over for dinner.”  

Bruce might’ve missed it, sure, but Tony had always loved the opportunity to brag and boast and show off his new pet and what he could do, wondering aloud always why Steve didn’t get one of his own when they were such a delight to have around.  Steve had to admit, he thought as he trailed behind Bruce, that the way the scientist had gone down on his Dom in the middle of dinner had been appealing.  

He wondered if Nat would do that, but then reminded himself: _I shouldn’t be wondering_. S _he should do it because I want her to. Because I want to make her want to. She shouldn’t have a choice._

That thought, it turned out, was dangerous, and he forced himself to think of something else to force off the boner already making his pants far too uncomfortable.  It wouldn’t do to have Stark think that Steve liked the way his sub looked from behind; the man had more possession issues than Steve did.  Maybe.  

Stark was a lover of theatrics, so it was no surprise that he was waiting in the dimmed library, his upper torso concealed behind a large paper that he folded over when Steve entered.  After commanding Jarvis to light up the room further, Stark stood, grinning as he ran a hand through Bruce’s curly black hair and pulled him in for a tight kiss.  It was so pornographic Steve had to look away as the genius devoured the lips of the shorter man in front of him, eliciting keens of longing and pleasure from the other’s mouth that weren’t exactly doing wonders for Steve’s previous problem. _Fucker._

“C’mon, Stark. Thought we were going to get down to business,” Steve grumbled.  

The two pulled away, Bruce looking dazed while Tony just looked proud of himself for making Steve call him out.  “Can’t help it.  Once you get yours under control you’ll understand.  Now, have a seat, please.  Bruce.”  Tony sat back down and pressed one hand to his knee.  Without so much as a moment’s hesitation the other man perched himself on Tony’s lap, allowing Stark to wrap one arm tight around his waist as the other dragged Bruce’s hand to Tony’s crotch.  The scientist didn’t need a second hint, and Steve found himself swallowing down the quick rising jealousy inside.  

“So your predicament, Steve.”

Right.  Getting down to brass tacks. “Well, I’ve tried everything I know how to do.  I’ve tried deprivation, both sensory and orgasm deprivation. Belted her plenty, too. I’ve taken away everything to try and humble her, and given her everything she wanted as a way of rewarding her.  It’s as though she knows she’s playing me and she’s just, I don’t know, biding her time,”  he admitted, the words coming out far quicker than he’d have liked them to.  Stark just raised an eyebrow.  

“Biding her time for what?”

“For someone to come get her.  She still thinks she’s an important part of the Red Room, but if they haven’t come yet I don’t think they ever will.  Top operative like that; they just left her to die.” Now that he thought about it, Steve was, himself, a little bewildered. Harsh as the world was in which they lived, it was incomprehensible to him that someone would leave a valued soldier behind. But then, maybe that was what gave SHIELD the slightest edge in morality over the Red Room.

“If a slave thinks there is a master out there who wants them more, they won’t give up their loyalty to a new master.”

Both Steve and Tony turned to Bruce, each man surprised for his own reasons. Tony frowned in displeasure at him speaking out of turn, but Steve began to ponder. Perhaps Tony’s pet was on to something. 

Tony sighed and moved one hand up to Bruce’s hair and yanked a little.  The man winced and apologized quietly as he slipped off of Tony’s lap and instead laid across it, his ass in the perfect position for Tony’s hand to swat at once he’d quickly divested his sub of his pants.  The ten slaps rang through the room, followed only by Bruce’s murmured counts, throat tightening quickly as the pain set in.  He breathed slowly, impressing Steve that he could keep everything so tightly under wraps, and when it was all over Bruce kissed the hand that had hit him and thanked Tony with such emotion and love that it made Steve damn near uncomfortable. The man had become much more accepting of his newfound position, and it had only been a few months.  Maybe half a year, if Steve could remember it right.  

“Remember,” Tony said softly to Bruce, but loudly enough for Steve to hear once his sub had resituated himself on his Dom’s lap. “Next time you speak out of turn tonight, it’s the riding crop. And maybe I’ll have the Commander here do it for you.”

Bruce shivered and nodded quickly.  “Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”  

Steve swallowed and tried to ignore the fact that he was half-hard again. “Hate to say it Stark, but your little slave here might be right. What if the Widow’s loyalty is still towards her previous masters because she thinks their loyalty is still to her?”

“So what if we can get her to realize that they won’t come get her?” Stark asked, head tipping backwards as he considered it.  “I could do some discreet hacking, see what the Red Room has written about her . . . for a price.”  

 _There it was._  “What do you want?”

“Give me a crack at her,” Stark’s grin turned positively predatory as he took in Steve and the way that the soldier’s spine stiffened.  “I haven’t had a good challenge in some time.  No offense,  babe,” he said as he kissed Bruce.  The man shrugged and just leaned against his master’s back. “But I have my Bruce here perfectly tamed. Sometimes, genuine defiance is a lovely thing.”

 _Hell no,_ was Steve’s first, instinctive thought, but even he had to admit that, on some level, this was the bargaining chip that he had been expecting. His gaze turned back to Bruce, and took in just how thoroughly Stark had transformed the man, and paused to consider Stark’s point. And _then_ , he remembered what Stark had said earlier, about allowing Steve to have a go at Bruce with the riding crop. Perhaps Stark was on to something, too--after all, what was the point in possessing someone if you couldn’t and didn’t underscore the point by sharing them as you saw fit, without their say in the matter?  An unexpected surge of heat shot straight to his cock at this thought, and, sure this was either going to be the biggest blessing or the biggest mistake of his life, he nodded.  

“Fine.  You get her for a night, is that satisfactory?”

“Three days and nights..”

“Two, and the third morning after.”  

Stark pulled a face.  “The whole after-care cuddling bullshit?  Not my thing, Steve. Takes the fun out of it. Two it is, I guess, you bastard, but if it takes me longer than two hours to get a hold of the file your spangly ass owes me.  Big time.”  

They shook on it and Steve couldn’t help but grin as he watched Bruce reposition himself at Stark’s knees, kissing his way to the inside of the man’s thighs as Stark tapped away at the surface of his desk, drawing up paperwork and files in Russian, Jarvis decoding as they went.  

Nat’s file was deeply buried, but Tony was well within the two hour time limit when he finally hacked through the firewalls, and what Steve saw--well, his mouth went dry with anticipation even as he almost felt moved to pity. If the information now in his possession didn’t change her mind, he wasn’t sure what would.  

 

* * *

There was a method to just about everything that Steve did, and this was no exception. He brought Stark with him back to SHIELD just an hour after they had found the files, and led him into Natasha’s cell. He maintained an impassive face as he watched Stark take in Natasha--he had fallen back to his way of keeping Natasha cuffed, naked, to the bed, and so this was the sight that greeted them when they stepped inside: Natasha immobilized, glaring daggers, Steve’s come dried on her thighs and stomach from where he had jerked off on her earlier. He had done that, just before leaving for Stark’s, and had left her like that, bearing the mark of his enduring lust.

Stark whistled, low. “Seems like you got this covered, Steve. Just keep her like this and you’ll be just fine.”

“Not an option,” Steve growled. “Tell her what you’ve got.”

“Fine,” Stark heaved a sigh, and then sat down on the bed beside Natasha--careful not to reach out and touch her, because he valued his life more than he valued touching any part of that beautiful thing without Steve’s express consent.. “We’ve heard a lot about you, Romanov. Seems you’ve been trying to give Steve a run for his money. Not a good idea, especially when you think what your other options are.” With a flourish, he removed some papers from his files, and began to read:

_"Summary of Personnel File 452, Agent Natalia "Natasha" Alianovna Romanova_

_*First Identification Made By Soviet Informant when Subject was four years old. Subsequent surveillance indicated promising factors: keen intelligence, agility, and good health, as well as developing signs of strength and grace._

_Intervention took place when subject was six years old. An engineered warehouse fire terminated both parents; Agent Ivan Petrovitch, posing as rescuer, intervened and removed Romanova fromfire and assumed caretaking duties of her.“_

Stark paused to see the effect of his words, then continued reading in a cold, indifferent voice. Steve watched as a single tear trickled down from Natasha’s eye, and her breath hitched up in a sob.

_“Shortly thereafter, Agent Petrovitch presented Romanova to Department X, where standard training, programming, and enhancements were administered.”_

_Agent Romanova went active in the field during her fifeenth year; Agent Petrovitch resuming handling duties. Over the course of the next decade, Agent Romanova established a formidable reputation as an accomplished spy, seductress, actress, and assassin, with a kill list in excess of 250._

_Current Status: Missing in Action_

_In May 2013, Agent Romanova was on assignment  when she encountered an ambush led by SHIELD operatives. After a lengthy firefight, Agent Romanova was incapacitated by a sedative arrow, believed to be fired by SHIELD Agent Clint Barton. At this point, SHIELD operatives overwhelmed Deparment X forces and they were forced to retreat, leaving Agent Romanova in SHIELD custody._

_At this point, most accounts confirm that, if Agent Romanova is currently alive, she is still in the custody of SHIELD. Given the increase in recent years of Red Room recruits and their success within the program, it is this agent’s recommendation that instigating a retrieval operation is neither necessary nor cost-effective. Agent is compromised at best, and at worst has outlived her usefulness to the Red Room and Department X._

_-Agent Ivan Petrovitch”_

Stark finished reading and impassively looked over at Natasha, who was struggling in vain to fight back tears. “That’s pretty lame,” he observed. “Spend your life killing and whoring for the mother country, only to end up abandoned as an expendable asset? Makes a life as Steve’s bitch seem pretty nice in comparison.” Abruptly Stark rose from the bed, but not before placing the file he held carefully on Natasha’s exposed stomach. “Looks like we’re the only ones who want you now.”

She tried to muster a glare, anything to show that she could still fight back, but as his words set in Steve watched her body go limp, the fight completely worn out of her.  Stark nodded once to Steve and then left without another word to Natasha, as if she didn’t exist.  

“Would you like to see the files?” Steve asked Nat, his voice surprisingly quiet as he drew closer to her.  She nodded mutely, and he unchained one of her wrists to allow her to read the file herself. He kept his muscles tense, expecting a fight.  To his surprise, and pleasure, she didn’t offer one, simply looked over the document with a trembling hand before laying back down and throwing the papers to the floor.  She closed her eyes tight and took a deep breath, as deep as she dared, before turning her head to the side to look at Steve, eyes full of contrition and defeat, before she lowered them demurely.  

“I’m sorry, sir.”  

Had he been any less trained, he might have jumped for joy.  His gamble had worked; he’d be sure to offer to buy Bruce something nice in the days to come for all his help.  As for Tony’s reward--well, he wouldn’t think about that right now, even though a part of him went a little rabid with a strange, possessive lust when he thought of what Stark would do to her. _Enough-_ -he focused back on the woman before him.

“Kitten, listen to Stark. He’s right. You’re mine, now. You belong to me. The Red Room gave you up, you know that. Like you were just a worthless piece of trash, to be thrown away when your value ran out.” Steve let his voice sound caressing, almost kind, in direct contrast to the harsh truth behind his words. “You’re my little whore now, but you’re not trash. You’re mine, and I won’t be throwing you out. Believe me--this _is_ the best outcome for you. It’s the _only_ outcome. You have a place here with me, with SHIELD, if you give in. Accept us.”

Slowly, almost gently, he took her wrist and refastened the handcuff to it, noting as he did how chafed her skin was, still. Since she’d come into their control, she’d spent more time in the cuffs than not, he reflected, and pondered for a moment this observation. Once they had her trained and combat-ready, once she was in the field, of course she would have to have free movement. But off-field--well, he was getting pleasantly accustomed to seeing her bound so.

“Have a good night, kitten,” he murmured, moving to flick the lights off as he left.  She made a noise that sounded like a protest, but he ignored it in favor of disappearing out the door, ignoring the muted sob behind him.   _Let her think on what had just happened, and hopefully,_ he thought as he made his way back to his bedroom, neglected since he’d started spending almost every evening with Natasha, _by the time the morning comes things will be the way they should be._


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We do not own any of these characters and concepts and make no money off of them.
> 
> If you’re here, we’re assuming you’ve made it past the various alarming (enticing?) tags and are either A.) A dedicated deviant, B.) A dedicated flamer, or C.) You didn’t read the tags and failed to see that this is a DUB-CON STORY. It’s the dubbiest of the dub-cons. At least it starts off that way, and towards the end things get a little less dubby. (But more subby.) We can promise you this: a little bit of plot, a hell of a lot of smut, and generally decent spelling, grammar, and punctuation. Oh yeah, and probably triggers galore. But did we mention the smut? There’s a lot of it. Enjoy!

* * *

They thought that Natasha had lost her fight, and in most ways, she had.  She’d been unable to detect any details that would prove false the documents Stark provided her with, and with a sinking heart, she knew this left her with no choice but to accept that the Red Room had indeed been behind the death of her family. While her memories of her parents were limited, a few had withstood the training of the Red Room, and even now remained in her mind as a silent place of simple love and comfort. To know that _they_ were responsible for the destruction of that life, and then to be afflicted with their perversions and treatment of her, only rubbed salt into the decades-old wounds, and the Red Room’s abandonment of her was the final insult.

Yes, Steve and Stark had defeated her in almost all of the important ways--she no longer harbored hatred or anger towards Steve, which would have been remarkable under just about any other circumstance. But instead, she was almost grateful--they had revealed a truth to her, and had given her, without realizing it, one final mission.

Now, without the hope of a place to return to, her mind contemplated revenge, going over the many ways she’d make Petrovich suffer when she got her hands on him.  The bastard had ruined her, in more ways than one, and now he was calling her useless?  Something to be thrown out or ignored as though she’d never existed--simply because others had shown promise in the field?  Oh no, that didn’t sit well with Natasha. She gritted her teeth as she imagined all the other girls who might have tried to take her place as the head operative in the Red Room.  Sure, they probably had not chosen their lives any more than she had, and the position had, at its best, sucked--no one liked being Ivan’s little bitch--but the pride that had come with the placement, and the surety that she’d had a place and that they'd never give her up because she was so good?  Well, all of that had been shattered, and she struggled to come to terms with the idea that there was no putting that back together.  

From that night on, she submitted to Steve with genuine willingness, keeping her eyes down and her voice quiet, never speaking unless she was first spoken to. She could feel his glee and pride in the job practically rolling off of him.  Stark, too, in the few times that she saw him, seemed proud of something.  Almost too much so, as though surprised that something had worked.

She may have given in, but she was not yet a mindless drone, and something about Stark’s smug look made her begin to wonder and pay more attention.

One day, during a rather lengthy meeting of excruciating dullness, as she sat on Steve’s lap--she had been upgraded from her position on the floor, by his feet--she began to wonder. _Was it possible they faked it?_  She worried at her bottom lip as she gave up paying attention to Hill’s briefing. As she pondered these increasingly-heavy thoughts, Steve’s hand gently stroked the seam of her pants over her crotch, but though she twisted and turned as though she enjoyed it she couldn’t have been any further removed.  Her eyes looked over at Stark’s, who had been watching the pair of them, and caught him smirking.  

Had he falsified the information as a way to get Steve to like him?  To get closer to Natasha?  There had been talk--and by that she meant that Steve had told her that it was going to happen whether or not she liked it--that she would be traded to Stark for Bruce at least once, as some part of a bargain in which she had had no. Of course she didn’t have a say in the matter, Steve would have reminded if she had been foolish enough to protest. She was his, to share or not, as he pleased.

She wasn’t blind to the semi-friendly rivalry between Steve and Stark. Nor was she blind to the obvious fact, that Stark would do nothing for free. So perhaps he had fabricated the information in exchange for time with her?  As this possibility occurred to her, it was as though someone knocked into her, hard, stealing the breath from her lungs and making her go rigid against Steve.  

“Kitten, what’s wrong?” Steve asked quietly, voice edged with concern.  

“Nothing, sir.  I just came,” she murmured, blushing, and silently congratulating herself on her choice of falsehoods. It was one of Steve’s favorite of her transgressions:  He hadn’t given her permission, but his glee at her infraction quickly overcame any suspicions he might have had.  While he promised her a good spanking when they got back to his room, threatening to make sure she never sat down again, she caught Stark’s eyes once more.  She needed to get close to him, to make him talk about the file.  To confirm just how much was real, and just how worth it would it be to escape, _actually_ escape this time. If the file was real, she had to escape to wreak her revenge on the Red Room. And if it the file _wasn’t_ real--and her fading hopes told her this was the unlikelier of the two options-- well, she had to escape and return to them.

She got the chance by the end of the week.  She’d heard Steve and Stark discussing it the day before, and sure enough, when Saturday evening rolled around there was a knock at the door.  Stark appeared on the other end, grinning as he offered Steve a leather leash attached to the collar Bruce always sported.  

“He’s all yours, boy scout, at least for the night.  Don’t break him too much, okay?”  Stark asked, winking, before pulling his sub into his arms and kissing him hard on the lips.  Nat hoped that Steve wouldn’t do the same thing, but after she’d quietly accepted her fate of being forced to stay with the egotistical maniac for the evening, Steve had pressed himself hard against her, seemingly prepared to give the other two a run for their money.  By the time he pulled away she had to admit she was seeing stars, and reluctantly turned to walk away behind Stark.  

The man gloated all the way back to his quarters, which turned out to be by far the largest and poshest of the on-base housing. Once in his rooms, Stark didn’t hesitate to lay down the ground rules.  She was to call him “Sir” and nothing else.  She was not allowed to speak, move, or do anything unless instructed to do so, and any consequences she might incur were to be taken silently unless he permitted otherwise.  He showed her how he liked her to stand--feet hip distance apart, hands clasped behind her back, chin down but eyes up at all times--and how he wanted her to kneel with her hands on her knees and her back straight but eyes downcast.  She licked her lips hesitantly, watching as his own eyes traced the movements, before offering her a drink.  

She told him she prefered vodka, and he grinned. “I think I have a game for us to play.  It’s called ‘Truth’, and I think you’ll like it.  Even if you don’t, I do, and that’s what matters, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m so glad you’re a fast learner, Natasha Romanov, or at least now you are.  I thought I’d never hear the end of Steve bitching about how you don’t listen or obey.”  

He led her to the bar, pulling a small tube from the inside pocket of his jacket, grinning as he showed the clear liquid inside it to her.  “This is a truth serum.  What it actually does is tap into the serotonin levels and up them so much that you’re willing to say anything and everything because the idea of talking just makes you so happy.  Kind of like my life.  Anyway--We ask each other questions in turn. You tell me one thing and I’ll tell you another.  If we can tell if the other one is lying, they take a shot of this,” he flicked the vial, “in their drink. Either way, I’ll learn everything I want to know about you.”  

She had a much better idea, but _okay,_ this would work well enough--amazingly well, actually.  She nodded, allowing herself the smallest of smiles, and when he nodded permission, she seated herself opposite him at the bar.  He poured them both two shots, one of whiskey for him and one of vodka for her, before pouring a small amount of the serum into their drinks.  Natasha took hers with surprisingly steady hands, keeping her eyes down as she waited for him to start.  

“Have you ever been a sub before?” he asked, his brown eyes staring into hers, obviously doing his best to tell whether or not she was lying, thinking he’d be able to read it.   _As if a month or so of being forced into this mess of a situation would really make her lose her edge that much._

“Yes, I have.  The man who I served, Ivan Petrovich?  He liked women to be much more submissive than they were meant to be.”  She said all this very quietly, as though afraid of his reaction.  

“Just how much did he teach you?”

She shot him a look, one that should have had him quaking in his shoes if she was allowed to be as forceful as she wanted.  This time it simply reminded him that it was her turn.

“When you built Jarvis, did you make him unstoppable no matter what?”  She was genuinely curious, the AI having always interested her; his intelligence was vast, his wit quirky and very much like that of his maker, and yet he had no discernable body or brain to speak of.  How interesting.  

“Well, almost.  There’s a killcode that has to be said in order to get him to shut down, but even then it’s only for a few minutes, just on the off-chance that someone managed to get their hands on it.”  Stark shrugged.  “But it’s nothing that could be guessed easily.”

Good, then _Stark_ would get in trouble for it when she got out.  She nodded, unable to detect a lie in his words, and the game progressed. He learned a little more about her, and she revealed to him just how far her training went, what her kinks were, and her general preferences were, before he started getting back to the personal questions.  He’d just asked about her family--and _that_ was off-limits--when she finally, unexpectedly,  punched his throat and, while he coughed, she forced the shot of serum down his throat.  His pupils dilated within the moment, going wide, before his lips passed into a grin.  

“What’s the passcode to shut Jarvis down?” she growled, and as he spluttered the answer she heard the AI overhead telling Stark that he was powering down for five minutes and counting.   _Plenty of time._  She knocked Stark’s head hard against the surface of the bar as he giggled, unaware that anything else was going on, and after pulling on the jacket that the once-conscious genius had been wearing (complete with credit cards and cash, she hoped) she managed to make her way down the many staircases, staying quiet and out of sight to keep herself from attracting attention, until she breathed fresh air for the first time in too long.  

Ivan was going to pay for what he’d done, whether it killed her to do it or not. She almost hoped it would.

* * *

 

For once, it wasn’t Steve’s ass on the line, and had it not been that Natasha had gone missing he would’ve been just a little bit thrilled for Stark’s misfortune.  As it was, not even hearing Fury rip Stark a new one was enough to quell the rage and--interestingly enough, worry--that gripped Steve’s heart.  With what she’d just learned about her past, about the man that she’d once called father and the place she’d once called home, he couldn’t imagine what she was going to do.  Rather than listen to Fury bitch that they should’ve been out there looking for her, he interrupted Fury to say as much.  The Director’s eye narrowed as he glowered at the soldier, but Steve was far beyond caring.  

“Fine.  Go.  Get the fuck out of my sight and if she does this one more time I’ll kill her myself,  dammit,” he threatened.  “Bitch is turning out to be more of a problem than she’s worth.”

Steve’s throat tightened with anger at the man’s words, but nodded his head and grabbed Stark’s arm to drag him away.  

“I might kill the bitch myself,” Stark muttered, rubbing his bruised head.  

Steve’s hand closed around his friend’s throat and tightened, eyes narrowed.  “Don’t.  Fucking.  Say that again.  Hear me?  She’s mine--you’ll not hurt her past what is reasonable and expected.”  

Stark’s eyes went wide for a moment--whether from Steve’s aggression, or the open definition of “reasonable and expected”, Steve didn’t know and didn’t really care-- then he nodded, pulling from Steve’s grip.  “Fine.  Whatever.  Let’s go get her.  Any idea where to start?”

Steve was quiet as he considered it, the pair of them striding out towards the doors and Tony’s already-waiting Lamborghini.  “She’s going to want to go after Ivan and the Red Room, that’s what must have set her off,” he said.  “She always goes quiet before she does something stupid.”  He didn’t understand why he hadn’t seen it before.  “But she doesn’t have documents, so she’d have to buy them. Have JARVIS locate the likeliest black markets, and that’s where we should get started ?  She can’t have gotten very far.” He hoped at least.  If she _had_ managed to get out of the state, well, they had quite a job ahead of them to try and track her down.  

 

* * *

After the persistence Steve had shown up until that point, Natasha supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised when the two men showed up at her doorstep. But it didn’t stop her from putting up a hell of a fight once they bashed through the door of the seedy motel she’d been staying in as she waited for her fake papers to go through. She’d managed to avoid Stark’s jab to her face, even jumped over as Steve tried to trip her up, but it was his fist in her gut after she’d clocked Stark on the jaw that had her doubled over, giving Steve the chance to grab her by the hair and flip her backwards.  His hands found her pants and shredded them almost instantly, preparing to take her then and there, his cock already hard in anticipation of asserting his right to punish her.  Natasha struggled and shouted and fought against him as best she could, but in the end he had her on weight.  It wasn’t until he had her face pressed hard against the floor that he realized she was crying, sobbing into the old green shag carpet.  

“Just let me go,” she cried, shaking and trying to pull her arms away from where he held them behind her back tightly.  “Leave me alone! _Please._ Just let me go and let me kill them.”

“No.”  Steve’s voice was a low, heated growl in her ear.  “You’re mine, Natasha Romanov.  You have been since the moment Clint got you, and you always will be.  Nothing you can say or do is going to change that, and as I’ve tried to show you,  there isn’t anything else on this planet that can keep me away from you. Your body and soul are mine, your _life_ is mine, and  I won’t let you throw it away chasing after empty revenge on the Red Room.”  He paused..  “But I can offer you a chance to go after them if you stay with SHIELD. Just a chance. But it means cooperating, and not trying to break free from me again or running away. It means staying with me. It’s the best chance you’re getting.  I mean it--it’s the _only_ chance you’re getting.”

His words took a moment to register in Natasha’s brain, the offer rattling around in there until she wanted to shout with the pain and unfairness of it all.  Hadn’t she given her all to that fucking Red Room and the idiots that ran it?  Hadn’t she suffered and bled and been raped over and over again to only be treated like a piece of shit?  She wasn’t sure which was greater at the moment; her fury or her complete and utter despair, the former making it difficult to think about anything past getting her revenge on those indifferent fucks that caused latter.  

“I’ll do it.”  She finally answered after thinking it over.  It was the only chance she’d get, the only time she’d had any choice in all of this, and she knew it, and that Steve was even waiting for her sort of . . . consent was surprising.  

“Say you’re mine, kitten.  Swear it.”  She felt him hardening against her again and she quivered beneath.  

“I’m yours, sir.  Steve, I’m all yours.  I promise you.”  She still choked on the words, but at least this time, she was speaking the truth. Steve could hear the sincerity in her voice, and not for the first time, he almost pitied her for the choices she had been forced to make in her life, and for the parts of her life she had had no choice in. But this was the world in which they lived; none of them were pure, none of them claimed to be; they all had their roles to play and their battles to fight. And while Steve didn’t believe in much, he believed in his country, and believed in doing what it took to protect it. And when that involved following an ethically dubious military organization and capturing an enemy’s deadliest assassin, and fucking her into submission, and draining her of all the will to do anything but serve him--well, that’s simply how things were.

Natasha’s sobs had subsided, and she was struggling to catch her breath now. Slowly, Steve released his pressure against her body, and she was able to lift her face up from the carpet. Despite her red-rimmed eyes and her tear-stained face, her clear blue eyes were still stunningly beautiful, and now--now they were completely focused on Steve, as though he was now her sole mission.

In a way, from now on, he was.

He sat back and allowed her to pull away from him, but before she had moved too far, he barked a terse order. “On the bed. Now.”

Naked from the waist down, Natasha obeyed, hoisting herself up slowly and making her way to the double bed. Once there, she sat down and awaited further instructions.

“Take off your shirt and bra.”

She did this quickly, but he noted the slight tremble in her hands. Good.

“Turn around. Get on your hands and knees. And close your eyes..”

Now that her back was to Steve and her eyes were closed, Natasha felt more exposed and confused. She heard the sound of him pulling off his clothing, but then, for a few moments, she heard nothing else. And then she felt the mattress sink with Steve’s added weight as he joined her on the bed, and judging by the way she felt his thighs line up behind her legs, he was kneeling behind her. And then his cock was pressing against her from behind, and she felt his hand drag the swollen head of his cock against the outer folds of her cunt. Without thinking, Natasha moaned. And then she felt Steve bending over her, covering her back with his torso, his mouth up against her ear. He began telling her things, dark and and disturbingly enticingthings, as slowly, slowly, he worked his cock into her, pressing in inch by inch, letting her know that he was taking his own sweet time with his invasion.

“So many things I haven’t done to you yet, kitten,” he told her, and she could only whimper l incoherently. “And I’m going to do them _all_. Maybe some things you’ve only imagined. I know you haven’t done everything, and god, I’m gonna love making you take it all. And I know you want to--Stark shared the little chat the two of you had before you made him look like an idiot--thank you for that, by the way. So I know what you like, and what you want, and what turns you into my shameless little slut.”

Talking to her like this was one of those things, he knew as soon as he pulled his cock out and saw how utterly, gratifyingly slicked up it was with Natasha’s juices. He rubbed his fingers over his cock, catching some of the lewd wetness, and as he drove his cock back into her, he thrust his fingers into her mouth. “Suck them clean,” he hissed in her ear, “Taste how much your body wants this.”

She suckled and licked his fingers hesitantly at first, but with more vigor as he thrust them deeper into her mouth, forcing her to accept them or choke. Only after she had licked them clean did Steve pull his hand out of her mouth and then reach down to grasp one of her breasts swinging free. Gently he slapped it a time or two, but then focused on the nipple, teasing and pinching and and tugging until it was beautifully hard, further evidence of her body's desires.

Natasha tried focusing her breathing, controlled breaths in and out,, but every time Steve slammed into her, it was practically impossible. Unbelievably, it was the first time he had taken her this way, and everything about it was _more_ \--more intense, more vulnerable since she couldn’t see him, more borderline painful as his amply-sized cock filled her pussy from this different angle. And christ help her, it was more wonderfully, disgustingly arousing.  She felt the orgasm building within her, remembered Steve’s displeasure when she came without his permission, and shuddered a little to think how he’d mete out punishment, particularly after her latest infraction. But she couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop herself, and she let out a cry that was almost too quiet to hear. But Steve _did_ hear it, and thought it perfect in its complete surrender. A moment later, he was climaxing, too, shouting and growling incoherently as he lost control and pounded into Natasha with all of his strength, fucking her through his own orgasm, until he simply had no more juice left within him.

Underneath him, Natasha’s arms gave out, and she collapsed onto the bed, her breath coming in ragged sobs. Steve rolled off of her and flopped backwards onto the bed, allowing himself to relish the mixed smell of their sweat and climax. He was exquisitely aware of Natasha, and somehow, he _knew-_ -this time, it was true.

Natasha was his, and if she wasn’t, well, she wouldn’t be his problem any more.  Fury would see to that.  

How long they remained that way, it was impossible to say. But it couldn’t have been too long, because Stark decided to make his presence known at that point--and god knew, Stark didn’t like to be kept waiting.

“You two all finished here?  I think I can feel the bed bugs jumping onto me."

Steve sat upright, but beside him, Natasha curled up protectively in on herself, as though she wished to hide her body away from Stark. “How long have you been here?” Steve asked Stark, more in exasperation than anything.

“I took off when the Widow there started snivelling--I hate that shit--but once you turned to the porn channel, I came right back. No way in hell am I going to miss the chance to see your style.”

Steve sighed and rose from the bed, not bothering to cover his nakedness as he went to retrieve his pants. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

“It was a good point of reference. You go too easy on her, Steve. So now I know what not to do later tonight.”

“Tonight?” Behind them, now Natasha sat up, too. Both men turned to look at her, and while Tony shook his head in disapproval- _-even now she speaks out of turn_ , he seemed to be saying--Steve glared at her, his anger back, close to the surface. “Yes. Tonight. And for the next three days and nights. I still have to uphold my end of a deal with Stark, and he gets an extra night for helping find you so quickly. He can punish you in ways that I can’t. Or won’t.”

“I’ll have JARVIS record for you, in case you decide to change your mind,” Tony chimed in. “Because I’m a giver like that. Bring her to my quarters by seven this evening, Rogers. Or she’ll suffer the consequences.”

He left them then, Steve standing, half-clothed, in the middle of the room, and Natasha still curled up, completely nude, on the bed. Only after he was sure Stark had left did Steve turn to Natasha. “You probably won’t enjoy your time with Stark much,” he told her bluntly. “But you brought it on yourself. You made him look a fool, and he _hates_ that. But I’ve seen his methods, and they’re effective. I still have so much work to do with you, I see that now, and I think some time with Stark will benefit you.. He takes, and when he gives it’s to make sure you know who’s in charge. He likes pain, even much more than I do. I won’t have a lot of say in what he does to you, but I can promise you this--when he returns you to me, you’ll be different.”  As he’d talked he’d walked over to the other side of her bed, taking her chin in his hand.  Her eyes were still rimmed with tears but they were clearer than they had been in some time, a deeper understanding that he knew would make the difference when he said: “But you’ll still be _mine._ ”


	7. Chapter Six

You’ll still be mine.”

 

Steve’s words echoed in Natasha’s mind later that evening, as they stood outside the entrance to Stark’s quarters. Steve had allowed Natasha to stand beside him, and perhaps he had had a deliberate reason for that--as she struggled to calm her rapidly-beating heart, she found his solid bulk beside her a steadying thing to focus upon. They were roughly five or so minutes early, Steve not wanting Stark to go any harsher on Nat than he was already planning on doing, and he chanced a glance to Nat before he knocked on the door.  Half a beat and the door opened, Bruce standing in front of him with a small smile on his face.  

 

“Commander.  Natasha,” he said, tipping his head at the former rather than the latter.  Natasha tried not to bristle at the slight, understanding that this was her place now.  Bruce, moreso than anyone else, would know that.  Maybe, if things got a little too . . . overbearing she could talk to him.  She tried to smile at him, hoping he’d be at least friendly, and something in the way he looked at her told her that he understood.  

 

“Bruce, don’t keep me waiting,” Tony’s voice said, dripping with a warning he very much intended to keep as the sub snapped to attention.  They were led inside the man’s less than modest accommodations and once again Natasha did her best to take inventory of what she found around her.  He certainly wasn’t afraid to show what he did in his spare time, different whips and paddles hanging off the walls, a stash of what looked like rope peeking out from under one of the couches, and this time when she bothered looking up she caught sight of a small, albeit sturdy looking, hook just high enough off the ground of his living room to present whoever sat in the couch a hell of a view.  

 

She felt her stomach do a few flops, swallowing hard as she looked over at Stark.  The man’s eyes narrowed and immediately Nat lowered her gaze.  Steve’s arm wrapped around her waist and squeezed gently, reassuring her that she was alright and he was there, but she knew that wouldn’t last long.  Stark was to be given free reign to do as he wanted and the concept made Natasha’s mouth go dry.  

 

Stark just chuckled.  “You know, if you hadn’t drugged me with my own serum and knocked me out cold you might not have much to fear.  As it is, however, that was a well executed and hell of an escape, so I feel that I have to congratulate you on it.  If you do it again, though, you’re dead to me, and there’s no way in hell Steve’ll be able to save you.”

 

The soldier at Natasha’s side growled low in his throat but didn’t correct him, letting Natasha know exactly what her place was in this situation.  She had a lot of ground to make up.  Stark ordered Bruce to walk Nat out to the guest portion of his quarters, where he’d be helping her prepare, and his words were laced with enough excitement to actually scare the hell out of Nat.

 

* * *

 

The two powerful men watched as Bruce led her away, and only after that beautifully twisted view was no longer in their line of vision did Stark turn back to Steve.

 

“Let’s have a drink before you leave,” he proposed. Ignoring Steve’s look of surprise he moved to his bar where he set out two tumblers and filled them with ice. “I promised you a fine scotch a while ago.”

 

A moment later he passed the promised drink to Steve and then, carefully cradling his own, he led Steve to the couches. Taking a seat, he gestured the seat opposite of him. “Let’s talk for a few minutes.”

 

When Stark said “talking”, it usually meant he would talk to an appreciative audience, so Steve settled down to listen. He was surprised, therefore, when Tony lifted his glass in a toast. “To a successful collaboration.”

 

Instinctively, Steve bristled. “Don’t get any ideas, Stark. She’s mine.”

 

“Wouldn't dream of it. The Widow’s a handful, and too much of a headache for me to take on full-time. Truth is, Steve, and if you repeat this I will finish you, I have to admire what you’ve done with her. She’s far more challenging than even Bruce was, and I don’t think most can see or appreciate that. So to have made the progress that you have, that’s remarkable. Fact of the matter is that Widow wasn’t born a sub, she doesn’t take to it quite naturally. And while that can make for some fun times for you in the sack, and especially when you’re training her, it can also create a lot of complications. Which you’ve seen.” Stark paused to take a mouthful of his drink. “She’ll never be a perfect sub, and really, what’s the fun in that? Even Bruce knows to act up every now and then, spice things up. But for her, when she acts out, it’ll be coming from a place of genuine rebellion, a core of her individuality that will never be stamped out.”

 

“Who are you, Freud?” Steve felt himself getting downright defensive.

 

“Nope. Just Tony Fucking Stark and believe it or not, I actually do have a vested interest in watching you, as an ally, succeed.”

 

Steve allowed himself to be the slightest bit reassured; after all, Stark was the one who had been there to offer assistance at all the points during Natasha’s shenanigans. “So what are you getting at?”

“You and I both know your work with her isn’t over,” Stark told him, quietly. “Her situation is very precarious. Fury’s pissed at all of us, and he hasn’t seen much to reassure himself that this has been a wise investment. One more slip-up, one more escape, and that little slave of yours is dead. And I mean that literally. Your professional reputation is on the line, too.”

 

“I know all this,” Steve snapped, gripping his glass hard. “I have known this. What’s your point?”

 

“I saw you with her, Rogers. Heard what you said, saw how you treated her. I’m serious and I think you’re going too easy on her. For her own sake, for the sake of her life, knock it off. I know Fury told you not to take it easy just because you don’t want to hurt her too badly and he’s absolutely right. It’s the only way you’re going to save her.”

 

Dammit, this was the problem with having a genius for an ally. Steve gritted his teeth, forcing himself to acknowledge how correct Stark was. “Sure you’re not just saying that because you want to have at her again after this?”

 

“That’s a huge part of why I’m saying this!” Stark promptly assured him. “But it’s a scenario in which everyone wins. I have no emotional attachment to your little kitten, as you call her, so I can do things to her and send her back to you without worrying about how she handles it. I’ll know that it’s for her own good, and I’ll get my kicks out of it, too. You won’t have to deal with the actions you don’t want to, and you’ll still get a better slave out of it.”

 

Steve wasn’t convinced, but he wasn’t ready to reject this proposal, either. “Let’s see how her time with you goes, this time around.”

 

“Fair enough,” Stark nodded. “And as a sign of my further magnanimity, I’ll let you declare three things that are off-limits with her.”

 

Magnanimity indeed, Steve thought wryly. “No bodily wastes. Try not to leave permanent scars...and...you can’t fuck her ass or her mouth.”

 

“What?” Tony was so startled he nearly dropped his drink. “Okay, first, that’s technically four off-limit things. And second--really? You’re taking all my fun. What the fuck?”

 

He looked so disappointed, as though his favorite Christmas present had been taken away, that Steve had to restrain a grim smile. “I simply haven’t gotten around to it, and I want to claim her there first.”

 

Tony groaned, half-amused, half-frustrated. “This is what I’m talking about, Steve. You’ve been going way too easy on her. You should have done that a long time ago. There’s so much I could do with that, and now--aurgh.”

 

More to shut him up than anything else, Steve simply said, “There’s always your next time.”

 

And wonder of wonders, Tony shut up.

 

* * *

 

 

Without another word the sub led Natasha out of the room, one hand light on her shoulder to steer her away into a certainly more interesting room.  A pair of large wardrobes took up the left side completely, filled, Nat was sure, with a myriad of outfits, lingerie and dress-up alike she could only guess.  Opposite of that was a large tub, surrounded by different oils and perfumes, and all Natasha could think was that for being as modern as Stark was she was really reminded of what a whore’s chambers might have looked like centuries ago.  At least he was considerate enough to offer it, she supposed, and Bruce asked for her to strip and step into the tub he had just started filling with hot water.  

 

“You really like your place, don’t you?” She asked quietly as she slipped into the hot water, the other man having disappeared to the wardrobes to pick out presumably an outfit that Stark wanted her to wear.  There was silence, during which she lathered her hands with the oil, glad that at least she would smell nice for some time before Stark did God knew what to her.  

 

“I’m glad to finally have a place, yes,” Bruce finally said, voice muted.  “You know, I’m sure, what my claim to fame is?  Why SHIELD wanted me in the first place?”

 

The Other Guy, yes, Natasha knew about the Hulk and was thrilled that she’d never had to meet him before.  She nodded that she understood where he was coming from, running shampoo through her hair, and he continued on.  “That’s how everyone saw me at first.  A weapon, something that could be used in the middle of a fight and nothing else.  No one saw me as a human, or even as an individual person, separate from who the Other Guy is until Stark tried to reprogram me.  I was in a really dark place when Tony found me, and, well, as kinky and fucked up as he may be he saved me. He knew what I needed, even though I didn’t know yet. He focused on Bruce, on me, not the Hulk, and he gave me a place in his life.  It’s not servitude, and it’s not just some weird kink that he and I happen to share.  He cares about me, he looks after me and even when he’s punishing me he knows it’s because it’s what I need.  I feel in control by giving it up, I feel like I matter and like he needs me.  So yes, I very much like my place here.  I think you could too if you would simply give it a chance.  They’re all you have left, and it’s not ideal but it’s life, right?  We work with what we can.”

 

The more he talked the more sense it made, though Natasha hated to admit it.  She’d been right about wanting to make an ally of this man, sure that she could make use of his information, and began to drill him about what Stark liked and didn’t like.  Unfortunately, it seemed, she was going to be in for a long night, especially if they weren’t similar to one another in the slightest, and seeing how readily Bruce embraced his life with Stark, and how much he adored him, Natasha was fairly certain that her compatibility with Stark was close to zero.

 

“Anything else I ought to know about him?” Natasha asked after she’d stepped out and was toweling her hair dry, “any major don’ts?”

 

“Don’t bring up his father--or call him Mr. Stark.  He hates that,” Bruce winced.  He’d once done it when he was first brought in just to piss the man off and it hadn’t ended well. He still had the scars to prove it. “And as much as he loves inflicting pain he’s not a big fan of it himself.  What you did to him before?  He’s going to be extra hard on you because of it.  Don’t show weakness, though, or else he’ll just go harder. Although...sometimes he likes that.”  

 

“So balance on that fine line between not enough and too much?”

 

“Until you feel like you’re about to fall over, yeah. Or until sometime when you feel like you need too much, or he needs to give too much. You’ll get there.” Bruce reassured her, offering her the lingerie he’d picked out for her to wear.  Red and gold lace; she couldn’t help but smile at the colors.  Bruce gave her a quick once over before nodding.  

 

“You’re ready.  We’ll just wait here till they call for us,” he said as he walked over towards the door and pressed a small button.  It glowed for a moment, and not a minute later they were told by Jarvis to return.  Nat breathed deep and squeezed her eyes shut tight before opening them again.  Show time.  

  
  



	8. Chapter Seven

Steve’s eyes burned with jealousy the minute he set eyes on her, his jaw clenching and hands fisting on the arms of his chair.  Natasha swallowed hard, her eyes leaving his so she could look down at her hands, which had been folded behind her back so that she adopted the stance she knew Stark liked.  There was a pleased murmur from Stark, who ordered her forward so he could get a better look at her, and after pointing to the spot just in front of him she sank, smoothly, to her knees.  

 

“Seems I might not have as much work to do as I thought.  Good, then I can enjoy it all the more.”  Stark grinned, caressing one side of Nat’s face before slapping it hard.  She bit down on her tongue as her head whipped to the side and her eyes burned with tears.  “That’s for making me look like an idiot. Don’t let it happen again, Romanov.”  And then, quickly, he slapped the other side of her face, just as hard. “And that’s to remind you I don’t mind doing this at all. In fact, I rather like it.”

 

“Yes sir, I’m sorry sir,” she murmured, keeping her eyes down.

 

Over his shoulder, Stark addressed Steve. “You ever slap her before, Rogers?”

 

“Not my style. Too...obvious.” It was impossible for Natasha to tell from Steve’s voice how he felt about what he had just seen, and she knew better than to break her submissive gaze to see.

 

“Too obvious my iron-clad ass. Are you her master or aren’t you?” Stark didn’t appear to expect answer, because he continued speaking. “Before you leave your little toy alone with me for the next few days, would you like a lesson? Consider it a bonus.”

 

And goddamned if Steve didn’t feel his cock getting rock-hard. He swallowed. “What sort of lesson?”

 

Stark grinned as he picked up the rope Natasha had seen under the couch earlier. As he fondled it he ordered her to turn and strip. Slowly. Hesitant, she moved the straps of the deep crimson top down past her shoulders and shimmied out of the teddy. Stark paused her then, grinning. "Touch yourself, Romanov, slowly. Get into it and show us how you like it.”

 

"Yes sir," she murmured as her hands moved to cup her breasts, softly massaging them as she tipped her head back to moan. Stark grabbed a hold of her hair and yanked, growling: "I didn't give you permission to make a noise, Romanov."

 

Natasha swallowed hard, her eyes contrite, waiting until Stark released her hair to keep going, this time taking care to keep any noises she might have made to herself, her breath coming in soft gasps as she squeezed her nipples until they were hard.  Her teeth worried away at her bottom lip, drawing blood, and Stark closed the distance within a heartbeat to kiss her, hard and filthy on the lips.  She swallowed her moan rather than get him angry at her again, and this time when he pulled away he was grinning broadly.  

 

“Good girl.  You’re a fast learner, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes, sir.”  

 

“Finish stripping.”

 

When she was naked in front of them, her hands clenched at her sides as she struggled not to cover herself up, Stark made a couple slow circles around her, eyeing her up and down, as though deciding what to do with her.  Steve tried to quell the jealousy that threatened to choke him and make him call the whole arrangement off and simply watched, waiting for Stark to finish showboating and get to the damn point.  

 

Stark ordered her to place her hands above her head, and in a matter of minutes had tied her up in a complicated mess of knots, her hands bound in the thick black rope, breasts separated and bound as well as the rope snaked its way down her pale skin, finally stopping around her hips and thighs.  She didn’t make a sound, Steve was pleased to note, the whole while, and he watched with eager eyes as Stark moved her towards the hook hanging from the ceiling.  It forced her to step on her tip toes in order for the rope around her wrists to reach, but when it did she was hardly able to move from the position.  Her blue eyes looked up for a moment to find Steve’s but Stark was having none of that, capturing her chin and dragging her face towards him.  

 

“Eyes on me for now, Romanov.  Your master needs to learn a few things.  Bruce,” Stark said, not tearing his eyes away.  His sub, who they’d all nearly forgotten was there, jumped into action without a moment’s hesitation.  “Get me the cat, the crop, and . . . let’s go with the studded paddle. Set them down near me.” Out of Natasha’s line of sight the man must’ve acquiesced, because not a half a minute later she felt something leather and soft swipe across her backside, sending shivers up her spine that forced the breath from her lungs in a quick hiss.  

 

“Know what this is, Romanov?” Stark asked, dragging it down her spine now.  

 

“A riding crop, sir,” she murmured.  

 

“Good girl.”  There was a grin in his voice as Steve looked over towards him, Nat gauging her Dom’s reaction as best she could.  He seemed more intrigued than anything else, though the tent in his pants spoke volumes for how much he was enjoying it.  “Your Dom is going to give you twenty lashes with it where he sees fit.  You will count them, out loud, for him, and thank him after each one.  Is that understood?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”  

 

“And as he is your master, you will address him as such.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”  She swallowed hard, chancing a quick glance up to Steve’s eyes again.  They were hooded and he licked his lips in excitement--no chance that he was reluctant, it seemed. She  watched him as he stood to take the crop from Stark and dragged it down the length of Natasha’s face.  Her skin erupted in goosebumps and she parted her lips in a ragged sigh, allowing him to press the leather tip to her lips.  Without being asked she accepted it into her mouth, her eyes meeting his as she sucked on it.  His grin broadened and soon after he removed it in favor of bringing it down on the back of her thighs, close to her ass.  She hissed a little, counted it as one and thanked him, as she’d been told to do.  Each time it was the same, though he tended to hit harder as he adjusted to the motion of the whip and just where he could hit her skin to get the best reaction.  By the end silent tears had started in the corners of her eyes and she was using all the techniques to endure pain she’d learned from the Red Room to even get the numbers out, having long since stopped thanking the bastard for it.  Stark was just watching, one eyebrow raised as he waited for Steve to take some kind of retribution or to punish Natasha, but after twenty lashes had come and gone he stopped and offered the whip back to Tony.  

 

“Not bad,” the Commander admitted.  “Good flexibility.  I like the way it leaves marks as well,” Steve said, eyeing Nat’s red splotched body.  “But without breaking the skin.”

 

“So long as you do it right,” Stark said with a smirk. “Of course, there are other ways to do it. I’ll have Bruce show you the scars sometime.”  He handed off the crop to the aforementioned man, asking that the other two objects be brought to him and set down in front of him, as the crop had been before, so he could pick it up.  The cat o’ nine tails, Natasha managed to see, was bright red and braided leather and for a moment she was sure she saw the--.

 

“Did you really get the symbol of the arc reactor etched into your damn whip?” Steve asked, trying not to sound amused.

 

“My whip, my choices, shield boy.”  Stark said before bringing the whip down on Nat’s back.  This time she cried out, not only in surprise but at just how badly it stung on top of all the other marks and tender spots.  

 

“Ah, ah, Romanov.  Not another sound or I’ll really make you hurt.”  

 

For how long it went on Natasha had no idea, the two men trading off items, comparing the merits of each as though discussing different types of bullets or technology, as though nothing was abnormal or strange about having a woman tied up to Stark’s ceiling and doing all they could to make her disobey their order and make a noise.  She tasted blood not only from the cut on her lip before, but also from how hard she’d chewed at the inside of her mouth in her determination not to show weakness.  As it was, her vision was blurred with tears and her breath was coming in very short gasps, each more shallow than the last until she was panting.  Steve’s face turned to a look of concern but Stark, having caught it, frowned and took his friend by the shoulder.  

 

“Don’t feel sorry, she’s fine.  Aren’t you, Romanov?  You may speak plainly.”

 

Truthfully, she’d done worse, though she hated admitting it.  It only meant that things were going to get more difficult, but she didn’t dare lie.  “Yes, Sir.  I am.”

 

“Of course, this is just your instruction that we’re doing right here,” Stark added to Steve, almost as an afterthought. “I’m going easy on her, just to try to teach you and to equip you for when you have her back. But after you leave us, that’s when the real fun will begin.” Almost absent-mindedly, he beckoned to Bruce again, who obediently set the riding crop down near him  again. “Here’s a little lesson for you, Steve. Resourcefulness.” He turned the riding crop towards its thicker handle end and began to tease the outer folds of Natasha’s cunt with it. “Remember, Steve. Toys need to be played with.” He inched the handle further into Natasha, chuckling a little as she began to squirm, but remained stoically silent. “And sometimes you want your toys to disobey.” With an expert hand, he angled the handle of the riding crop just right, and Natasha let out a soft cry of surprise, the edge of the leather handle stroking against her g-spot.  Her transgression earned her a hard slap to the face, but her hips bucked and she squeezed her eyes tight together, nails biting harder than ever into the soft skin of her palms.  Tony thrust it in and out a few more times, each time rubbing against the same tender spot until Natasha’s toes tried to curl and she tilted her hips to allow him the best angle.  Only then did he pull out and stick the now soaked end in Natasha’s mouth.  Before she could protest her tongue wrapped around it as surely as her cunt had, sucking the taste of herself from it and moaning when Steve prompted her to, saying that he wanted to hear her despite Tony’s over-exaggerated eye rolling.   

 

“You’re going to spoil her and she’ll be no good to anyone,” Stark muttered.  

 

“Shut up, Tony.  You have your sub and Natasha is mine.  All mine.  Your opinion doesn’t matter.”  

 

“Right, well, which did you prefer the most?” Tony asked, turning his attention back to the three items they’d just finished using, as though he was an arms dealer selling the best and most powerful weapons available.  

 

Oh wait, he’d used to do that until he decided the best weapon he could ever make was himself and then allied with SHIELD.  

 

Steve shrugged. “Honestly, all of them have their merits.”

 

“They’re only as good as the master who wields them.” Stark decided to emphasize his point by bring the riding crop down in a vicious strike that lashed its way across both of Natasha’s thighs, unexpectedly. “Go easy on your little slave and she won’t fear you or the tool.”

 

Steve gritted his teeth and Nat swore she saw something flit across his face resembling indignation--at how Stark was lecturing him, or treating her? Impossible to say, though it was likely the former--but it was quickly wiped clean as he ran his fingers through the cat’s tail.  “I think I’ll buy one of these.  But not near as gaudy,” he teased, falling back on picking on the man he called an ally.  Stark just snorted.  

 

“If you want.  There’s one more thing I’d like to do,” he murmured with a slow smile as he moved to unhook Natasha.  Arms now falling in front of her, she stumbled when she tried to put all her weight on her feet and Stark caught her.  

 

“Follow me down, Romanov,” he murmured as he turned her to face Steve.  Slowly, he helped move her down to her knees in front of her Dom, then further down onto all fours as he spread her legs apart and moved his hand to her slit, grinning at how wet she was.  

 

“Trousers down, Steve?  I think you’ll like the lesson I have planned about sharing, too.”  

 

Steve arched a brow but didn’t question it as he unbuckled his belt and slipped out of his jeans.  His cock was straining at the confines of his boxers, peeking its angry red head through, the sight enough to make Natasha’s mouth water, already trained as well as Pavolov’s damn dog (at least where that was concerned.)  From behind, she could hear Stark unzipping and removing his pants.  

 

“So help me God, Stark if you take her in the ass--”

“Shut up spangles.  She’s fine; I’m not going to.  I want to know what her cunt feels like first.  I can only imagine it’s heavenly if you’ve held onto her for so long through all the shit she’s put you through.  I thought you might appreciate being here the first time I take her, too,” he smirked.  “Just to make sure I behave myself, right?”

 

Steve didn’t say anything, eyes narrowed as he watched Stark position himself behind Natasha.  The man leaned forward to whisper in the redhead’s ear, his hands pinching her nipples as he talked so she had to bite back a gasp.  “Now, you be good and listen to everything I say and I’ll make sure this is the best night of your goddamned life.  You don’t and you’ll suffer for it not only in front of your Master but so much more when I get you alone.  Understood?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” she said with a quick nod, forcing down her anxiety as best she could, though her voice shook (whether out of anticipation or fear even she couldn’t tell.  Perhaps both.)  

 

“Good girl.”  His hand fisted in her hair as he pulled her head back and spoke louder for Steve’s benefit.  “Now, suck your Master’s cock.  Take it all, I know you can, and don’t you dare gag.”  

 

Now it was Steve’s turn to groan at Stark’s words, slipping his boxers down so his cock stood, proud and ready for Nat’s mouth, which accepted it without so much as a moment’s hesitation.  Stark, amazingly, let her go slow as she inched Steve into her mouth, struggling not to choke on the man.  He was much larger than she was used to, and she was a couple inches from the base of him when Stark slammed into her from behind, filling her up so well she nearly seized up out of shock.  Reminding herself of Tony’s promise, however, she finished taking Steve entirely into her mouth, tongue pressing hard to the base of his cock as he groaned and bucked his hips into the wet heat of her tongue, lips, and mouth as a whole.  Behind her, Stark barked orders for Bruce to sit down and enjoy the show, to take himself in his hand but not to come until he was given permission.  Like a good sub, he followed orders perfectly.  Nat wondered if she’d ever be like that, and couldn’t help but think that it might be nice to not have to think about what they had to do every minute of every day

 

Stark set a brutal pace, pistoning his hips hard into her as he groaned and placed his hands on her hips, right on two fresh bruises of his own creation, fingers gripping hard enough to add some new bruises on top of the originals.  Had she had the choice she would’ve cried out, or asked him to stop or at least go a little easier, but she was finally starting to learn this was no longer about her.  She was there to be used, to be helpful as a tool to their pleasure, and while it chafed her to think about at the same time there was something gratifying.  As Bruce had said, she knew her position in their dynamics and all she had to do to get everything they ever promised was just grin and bear it.  Maybe grovel here or there, or follow their commands and demands.

 

“You’re doing so well, kitten,” Steve murmured above her, running his hand through her hair to pull it out of her way.  “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?  Love sucking my cock and having it in your mouth.”  He hissed through his teeth as she pulled back with a vulgar pop to nod her head, eyes wide.  It earned her a hard smack on the ass and a pair of fingers finding her clit and pressing down hard.  Far too hard for it to feel good.  Biting back a shout she looked back to see Stark shake his head.  

 

“I never told you you could stop.  Now, suck his dick.  Harder!  I want to see just how good you think you are.”  

 

“Yes Sir,” Natasha said quickly before taking Steve in her mouth again.  Her hands had long gone numb, and her jaw ached at the thought of taking him in again, so she swirled her tongue around the head to make him moan and curse before trying to take him in once more, pushing past the ache and focusing on how good it felt to have him there, and to have Stark behind her pounding into her even harder.  

 

“Alright, now Romanov I want you to come, do you understand?” Stark asked, pressing his fingers hard against her clit again, making her jump this time.  He rubbed her in a clockwise motion, making her whimper around Steve, who moaned at the vibration.  “Romanov come. Now!” Stark bellowed, punctuating it with one more hard thrust, sparking the powder keg to Natasha’s orgasm.  She bucked her hips to meet his, eyes slamming shut as it took all her might to keep her mouth relaxed and open, Steve now fucking it in earnest, moving so fast she was sure he could come any moment.  

 

On cue he pressed himself so far into her that her nose hit the skin of his groin, buried in the finely trimmed hair there as she felt his come shoot down her throat.  Stark, meanwhile, was filling her up with his own from behind, groaning and shivering as he came down.

 

A moment passed in which they all struggled to catch their breaths.  “Yes, Steve.  Now I understand why you don’t want to be away from her,” Stark said with a grin, pulling her away from a now quieted Steve Rogers.  “And on that note I think it’s time you and Bruce got going.  He’s nice and hard and ready for you; I made sure he prepped himself last night because I’m thoughtful like that.”  He winked.  It didn’t amuse Steve, who simply glowered.  

 

“Don’t you dare break her.”

 

“No promises.  If I do, I’ll be sure to buy you a replacement.”  

 

With great reluctance, Steve rose to his feet, pulling his pants back on as he did. His eyes fell on Natasha, still on all fours on the floor, her head bowed. Without hesitation, he pulled her up and steadied her as she tried to regain her balance, his hands gripping her arms firmly.

 

“Look at me,” he commanded her. She flitted her eyes up briefly, and then lowered them again. “No, look at me.” He caught her chin and tilted her face up to him, and this time, he held her gaze when she looked up at him. “Remember,” he said, his voice rough with a fierce lust, “You’re mine. Stark has you for now, but you’re mine forever. This is going to be hard for you. But you need this, Natasha, to train you to endure what’s going to come in your life now. You understand?” He gripped her chin a little for emphasis, and she gave a tiny nod. “Good girl, good kitten.” He kissed her then, hard and demanding, bringing his hand up to her throat and squeezing, just a little, as he did.

 

“Ho-hum.” Stark made no secret of his boredom. “The longer you linger, Steve, the worse it’ll be for her.”

 

It wasn’t that that compelled Steve to leave--part of him wanted to see how hard Stark would make it for her--but a deal was a deal, and Steve never backed out on a deal. Plus, the sooner he left, the sooner the three days would pass.

 

Stiffening his spine, he took Bruce’s leash and led him out of Tony’s quarters, leaving Natasha to her trials.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: this chapter gets PRETTY DARN GRAPHIC about just how Stark 'trains' Natasha. So. You've been warned; we really don't want to trigger anyone or make anyone uncomfortable, so we've marked with a line break where the not as brutal stuff starts if you wish to skip past it all. Thanks so much!

After Steve left, Natasha remained where she stood. She had no idea what Stark expected, so just assumed it was best to await his orders.

 

They came soon enough. Stark passed by Natasha, and as he did, he gave her a hard shove. It took her by surprise, but she didn’t fall.  “Unless I tell you otherwise, you kneel,” Stark said over his shoulder as he disappeared into another room.

 

So she knelt down and lowered her head and waited.

 

A moment later, Stark had emerged, clad in a rich-looking housecoat. He glanced at Natasha. “Good,” he said curtly. “You’re not Bruce, but I suppose I can work with you. See the bar over there? Get up and go fix me a scotch on the rocks. I want to relax for a little bit before the real work starts.”

 

A simple enough order to follow. Natasha rose from where she knelt and moved over to the bar, trying hard to grow used to being here now without Steve nearby. When had she become so reliant on his presence? And when had this thought become...not so infuriating?

 

She supposed this was a stage in the whole “breaking in” process. Even the Black Widow can break.

With assured hands, she filled a tumbler with the rich, amber liquid that looked to be the most expensive scotch of the selection, and then added a couple of ice cubes from the silver ice bucket. Careful not to spill a drop, she carried it over to where Stark sat waiting and held it out to him.

 

In a moment Stark’s gaze went icy and hard as he looked up, slowly, into her eyes.  A chill passed through her bones and she swallowed hard as her mouth went dry, trying to discern what she’d done wrong.  For a few moments they stood in silence, Nat bringing her eyes down to the floor, thinking that was where she’d gone wrong.  

 

“Put the glass on the table beside me.”  Stark’s voice was dead of all emotion.  “And kneel.  Now.”  

 

She placed the glass slowly on the glass surface beside Stark, but before she could sink entirely to her knees he’d gripped her by the throat and pulled her down to his level.  Her eyes went wide, genuine horror streaming through her veins as he glowered at her.  “Never hand me things.  Ever.”  To emphasize his point his fingers tightened on her throat before he shoved her back onto her ass.  In one swift motion he raised the glass to his lips and swallowed it smoothly, shaking his head a little after he’d finished it and returned it once more beside him.  Apparently done with his relaxing, he ordered her to stay put as he stood and moved to reach under the couch.  The box that he removed jangled and from within he pulled a silver, pronged collar, a chain, and a smooth. clear dildo.  He ordered her, then, to bring him the ice bucket on the bar, and after she’d placed it at his feet he gripped her by the hair and brought her up to her knees.  He was much faster than he looked, she had to say, as he fastened the chain around her throat and pulled it tight enough that the dulled barbs she’d been eyeing pressed into the soft flesh of her skin.  She barely bit back a whimper as he pulled it tight enough to pinch the skin,squeezing her eyes tightly shut as she tried to control her panic, inhaled slowly to calm her heart.  

 

She could do this.  She had to do this; there were simply no other options, so when he released her she murmured a quiet “thank you, sir” as she slumped back down to her knees.  He snorted.  

 

“Oh you can grovel all you want, kitten,” he snarled the term, carrying none of the possessive affection that Steve did when he used the term.  “You’re fucked now.  Sit up on your knees, hands behind your back.  No, higher.  Stay.  Keep your eyes closed and I swear to God if you make one fucking noise I’ll ram my cock so far up your ass you won’t sit down for a damn month.  Steve’s demands be damned.”  

 

She clenched her jaw and followed his orders.  His feet moved across the room, padding quietly as she heard him go to the opposite side, pick something up and put it back down, muttering to himself that he needed something different.  She could only imagine what that was but she wasn’t stupid enough to look up and see.  

 

Whoever said that the anticipation made it all the much better lied, she decided, when the cane first was brought down against her left ass cheek.  Her bottom lip burst as she bit hard into it again, reopening the wound she’d torn before as tears streamed already down her face, retracing their paths from before.  Fuck!  The cane was thin, making it sting all the more as it added to the already tender patches of skin from earlier.  Shit, she couldn’t do this, especially for three days--what the hell had she done to make him do this to her already?  She nearly fell over as he hit her once again, switching to the other cheek. The pain was much worse than Steve’s belt, than the riding crop, and everything else they’d tried so far.  It moved away from her backside and instead he used it to tip her chin upwards, demanding she look at him.  

 

“You’re going to stand up and I’m going to tie you up again.  You will stand, legs spread, and will stay quiet until I give you permission to scream, and I’ll make you scream.  Am I understood?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she said, swallowing as her words turned thick with the tears she felt still rising up in her eyes.  

 

He jerked his head upwards to make her stand, and stand she did, rising slowly on her shaking legs.  How she was even able to support herself she had no idea, but she did her best and again Stark made quick work of binding her hands above her head so he could string her up once more.  As requested she spread her legs as far as she could and Stark adjusted the hook so that she could easily move from flattened feet to the tips of them.  She had a feeling it was the one of the few mercies she’d find that night.  He disappeared from her sight, moving behind her and a moment later she felt a smooth, lubed-up silicone head pressing into her pussy.  She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to relax as she accepted the curved, thick toy inside her.  

 

“That drops out of you, I’ll take it out on your backside.”  

 

As if he really had to threaten her anymore, but she just suspected he liked the sound of his own voice.  After she murmured her traditional “yes, sir” he backed away, watching as she struggled to keep her groin tense and yet the rest of her loose, to find the perfect balance between the two opposites.  

 

The soft swish of the cane moving through the air was all the warning she had before it hit the back of her left thigh, and she managed to brace herself just enough to keep from shouting at the pain that spread through her skin and nerves.  She rocked forward on her toes and for once, Stark didn’t rebuke her.  The motion allowed her to focus on more than just the pain, feeling the sting spread along her entire leg as she moved, and when she finally lowered herself onto her feet again Stark repeated the motion on the opposite leg.  For how long he hit her she couldn’t say, but she’d lost count by the time he allowed her to start screaming.  

 

“Scream for your Master, Romanov.  I want him to hear all the way down in his quarters. I want him to wish he was doing it to you.”  Stark said with a derisive snarl in his voice, before he continued his lashing, more harshly than before.  

 

Scream she did, until her voice went out and her vocal cords felt like they were shredded from crying out, her ears ringing not only with Stark’s laughter but with the sounds of her own pathetic attempts to rationalize what was happening to her.  The screams made it seem more real, as though she’d never get away from it, and maybe that’s what Stark was going for.  As promised, she kept the dildo he’d pressed inside her where he demanded, clenching herself around it so that the friction joined with the motion when she rolled onto her toes, spiking just enough pleasure to burn away at the edges of the pain.  

 

He went until his refractory period was over with, it seemed, her eyes catching on the way his cock had risen in pleasure from seeing her so hurt when he moved to bring the cane against the fronts of her thighs and her stomach.  These touches were slightly lighter, warming her up, as though knowing she wouldn’t be able to take the full brunt of the hit.  Again, another mercy, and it confused and made her grateful to him at the same time.  Perhaps, despite the dulled blue glow in his chest, he did have more than just a metal heart.  When he noticed her staring at his rising cock he laughed and stroked the side of her face with the cane before lazily tapping her cheek.  

 

“You’ll get that soon enough, Romanov.  Don’t get too excited.”  And then he frowned, as if in thought, for a moment before reaching out and slowly inching his hand towards her cunt. He teased around the folds for a moment, brushing his fingers around the base of the dildo, and his eyes became as wide as his grin. “Holy shit, Romanov, you little whore. You’re soaking wet. You’re loving this.”

 

She wanted to tell him to shut up, to take back what he said about her loving it.  She shouldn’t have.  She wished she wasn’t.  It would’ve made everything so much easier to rationalize if she wasn’t somehow enjoying the way the pain sent gushes of adrenaline through her whole body, keeping her--literally--on her toes with excitement and a mix of emotions.  But she did.  Fuck it all if she wasn’t used to this position, being used and beaten and dominated because that had been her whole fucking life in Russia, and maybe it was Ivan’s fault that she’d been conditioned to find affection in the way that these men took advantage of her.  Even in Stark’s case, where he was just trying to beat the shit out of her, if he hadn’t given a damn then he wouldn’t have done it.  

 

Well, that was how it seemed to process in her brain at least.  

 

It continued on for what felt like hours, and for all she knew it might have been.  He kept all the windows closed in the room, had no clocks that she could see in front of her, and when he did, eventually, finish it up he ran the edge of the cane down from her front to her backside again, lightly tapping the bright red skin just enough to make her hiss.  

 

“You finally understand your situation, Romanov?” He demanded.  “Rogers may own you but inside this room?  Your ass is mine.  Your cunt is mine, and because you blew him your mouth is mine.  I have complete control over what happens to you, and now that I know you’ll like whatever the hell I do things are going to get fun.”  He gripped her chin hard enough that she was sure she’d bruise.  “Your body is mine for sixty-six more hours.  Let’s see if you survive the first twenty-four.”

 

She could only hope she had some sort of deity on her side because she was going to need it.  

 

He released her from her rope and the hook a few minutes later, after he’d let the pain recede once more.  She went nearly limp, knees just about giving way, and he praised her for not dropping the dildo as he pulled it slowly out from her, kissing his way from her cheek to the side of her neck.  It was almost sweet, until he bit hard on one of the marks Steve had left so she gasped.  

 

“On your hands and knees, Romanov,” he ordered in her ear.  

 

She complied instantly, and once she had he moved to where she’d brought the ice bucket.  Something clear protruded from it and with a smile in his voice he told her to close her eyes as

he started to pull something out.  Not wanting to risk him seeing her with her eyes open she snapped them shut, so when the cold, thin glass tip of a second dildo pressed into her she shouted.  It earned her a tight yank on the collar and a loud order to keep quiet.  

 

“I’m gonna run you around like the bitch you are,” he murmured, bending down to bite the shell of her ear.  “And again, if you let this drop out you’re in deeper shit than you could ever imagine.”  

 

He’d picked the first dildo intentionally, making sure it was thicker so that when he’d pressed the thin, glass one into her she had to seize up every muscle in her lower groin to try and keep a tight hold on it.  Fucker.  After it was seated inside her, her body trying to warm it up as quickly as possible, and the chill of it had begun to numb her insides, Stark moved to stand in front of her.  

 

“Blow me,” he ordered, yanking her collar up so that she was raised onto her knees.  She took advantage of that to squeeze her legs together, but no sooner had she wrapped her lips around his cock and sucked as hard as she could that he pulled away from her, dragging her after him and onto her hands and knees.  

 

“Come on, kitten,” he snorted.  “Let’s move. I want to see how fast Steve’s whore can chase after someone else’s cock.” He stepped back again, tightening the leash and yanking hard as he did. Natasha shuffled forward again, and this time the chilled phallus hit directly against her battered g-spot, still swollen from the abuse it’d taken earlier, sending a painful shiver up her spine.The chill was spreading outward now from her cunt and starting to permeate everywhere--another hard yank drove this thought away, but as she struggled to keep up with Stark’s cruel pace, her knees caught on the floor at the same time as she shivered again, harder this time.

 

And the dildo fell out.

 

She tried catching it between her thighs but it hit with a dull thud just as she clenched tighter.  Her head fell down and she gave a low whimper, knowing she was in major trouble.  Stark’s low chuckle only emphasized that.  

 

“Oh, Romanov.  I’m so disappointed.  I thought you were made of better stuff than that--.”

 

“Sir I’m so sorry, I’m so--.”

 

His cock filled her mouth before she could finish, choking her and making her gag, but she accepted it and sucked him has hard as she could, employing enough tricks to make him shout and shiver in front of her, trying to please him and push the idea of punishing her out of his head.  “That’s it, Romanov.  Suck me off--you fucking love the feel of my cock in your mouth, don’t you?  Bet you love it more than you love Rogers’.  Tell me you do.”  

 

He pulled from her just in time for her to whisper, with obvious reluctance: “I love it, sir.  It’s much better than my Master’s, sir.  Please let me suck you off again.  Please, sir.”  

 

“Oh you whore yourself out so well,” he purred, running his hands through her hair before gripping it tightly and pulling her mouth back to his cock.  “Now you have five minutes.  Five minutes to make me come and I’ll spare your ass for tonight.  Go.”

 

If that wasn’t an incentive enough she didn’t know what was, and as she bobbed her head and flicked her tongue around the base of his dick she moaned loudly, the vibration moving up his shaft and making him moan in surprise, his head tipping back.  “Shit, you have to teach Bruce that.  Fuck, Tash.”  It was the first time he abbreviated her name--hell, said her name at all, and she took that as encouragement enough to keep going, pushing past the ache in her jaw to try and finish him off as soon as she could.  

 

He pulled off to finish on her face with a final groan, ordering her to clean herself up when he was done spilling himself on her skin.  She did so with a quiet moan, as though the taste of him was too much for her to stand, and for a moment she thought he’d bought it.  She was safe.  

 

“That took you seven minutes.  Stand back up and hold your arms above your head.  I’ve got a switch that has your name on it.”  

 

* * *

 

The three days passed far too slowly for Steve’s liking, and by the time Natasha finally knocked quietly on his door, covered in bruises, her bottom lip swollen and cut up from where she’d bitten into it so many times, favoring her right leg, she looked more like she’d gotten beaten up in some back alley rather than spent a few days in Stark’s “care.”  

 

He took a couple of moments to examine her abused body, making sure that no permanent damage had been done. When he saw the anal plug still in her ass, however, he saw red.  

 

“I’ll fucking kill him,” he roared, halfway to the door when Natasha stopped him.  

 

“Don’t.  Master, please.”  Her voice was so soft he’d nearly missed it, but it was her eyes that caught him.  They were brighter than he’d seen in some time, still red from when she’d undoubtedly been crying, the skin puffy and her cheeks still stained with the salt water that had poured down her face.  But somewhere far beneath it all, far, far beneath it, there was a little bit of his Natasha.  Just a little.  He moved towards her instead and pressed a much more gentle kiss to her lips than he would have had she been in her usual healthy condition.  No use rubbing salt in the wounds.  

 

“Lay down on the bed,” he ordered quietly.  She chanced a smile and limped over to the bed to lay down on her front, her backside likely too tender to withstand any real weight.  He grabbed a tube of lotion that Bruce had recommended--the man having used it before on his own welts and injuries--and with measured, soft steps he made his way back to the bed.  He squirted a bit of the lotion onto his palms and rubbed them to warm them up before gently--at least as gently as he could--massage the oil and buttery substance into her skin.  She whimpered quietly, biting down on the pillow as he took her ass cheeks one at a time, then removed the plug even more slowly.  

 

“You really pissed him off, huh?”  Steve asked, keeping his voice low.

 

Natasha nodded and thought it safe to answer. “I tried to hand him something,” was all she said, her voice muffled by the pillow.

 

Oh his poor kitten.  He sighed heavily and eyed her abused asshole, making sure she’d at least been properly lubed up before violated like that.  At least he couldn’t see any blood or any signs of tearing, and he pressed a kiss slowly to her shoulder blades, the one place she didn’t seem to be red or bruised at. “Why’d he give you the anal plug?”

 

“Last night--he was. I don’t know. More enthusiastic than normal? But he said he was putting the plug in me as a reminder of his promise to you  to not fuck me back there. He was saving that for you.”

 

Saving it his ass.  Bastard. Still, it was Stark all over. “Can you stand, kitten?”

 

“No, master.”

 

He had to admit that, as much as he hated Stark right then, in that moment, he very much liked the sound of that as it came out of her mouth.  With a soft huff he picked her up, carefully avoiding the worst of the abrasions on her back, and moved her into the adjoining bathroom to set her in the tub, running hot water for her and, after stripping down, he slipped in carefully behind her.  Aftercare, as it turned out, maybe wasn’t so bad as Stark made it sound.  She seemed to melt beneath the water and his touch, his hands wrapped lightly around her as they relaxed and let the hot water soothe the soreness in her muscles.  She leaned her head against his chest, humming in pleasure as her eyes closed, and he pressed a slow kiss to her temple.  

 

“You’re all mine, kitten.  I’m going to take care of you now so when I take you again you’ll be ready for it.  I’m so glad you learned from Stark, no matter how abusive he is.  You needed it, and you’ll be better for it, you’ll see.”

 

“Yes, master,” she yawned quietly, eyes fluttering open to look up at him.  The smile that crossed her lips nearly made his stomach jump into his throat, so understanding and grateful was it of their situation, as though she was just happy to have pleased him.  

 

Maybe he could forgive Stark for his transgression.  The rod was spoiled, but Natasha was spared.

 

“Master?” Her voice was, if possible. even quieter.

 

“Yes, kitten?”

 

“Please don’t send me back to him any time soon.”

 

He stiffened a little.  “That’s not your decision to make, kitten.”

 

She winced, able to read his displeasure in his voice and posture alone, so when she turned to face him her face was filled with an apology so sincere he felt his heart surge in victory.  “I’m sorry, master, I didn’t mean to be out of line, but . . .”  She cut herself off there and Steve fixed her with a hard look, demanding she continue without ever having to say a word.  

 

“He’s not like you, and I like you much better.  He made me think about a lot of things, and reflect on how I felt, and I’m sorry for what I did.  What I put you both through.  I understand that I have a place here and that you were kind enough to take me in.”  She swallowed hard and brought her eyes to meet his.  Steve marveled at how strong she was, as though not all the fight had been wrung from her.  “But please.  I won’t do it again I swear it, just don’t send me back.”

 

Steve was silent, caught off guard for the first time by her confession.  What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He’d expected some fear of Stark, but fear that somehow inspired this  edged defiance?  How was it she wasn’t a completely broken woman?  His respect mounted for her and the corner of his lips twitched.  “If you’re a good girl and do what I want then I’ll probably only send you back for routine check-ins to make sure your attitude is in the right place.  That’s my final offer, kitten.”

 

She, very slowly, moved to press a kiss to his lips, ghosting her tongue over his bottom lip as she pressed herself to him, taking solace in the solid figure just behind her, forging her own ‘thank you’ with her lips on his rather than with the same words he’d heard over and over again.  He found that he liked that much more, anyway, always having been a man of action.  

 

 

  
  
  



	10. Epilogue

“What the hell is the meaning of this, Rogers?” Fury demanded as the three figures trooped into his office, his one eye moving from the subdued figure of Natasha to the proud smirk on Steve’s face, and the gloating eyes of Stark.  

 

“Miss. Romanov has something she’d like to say.  Kitten?”

 

Fury rolled his eye at the nickname but Natasha slowly raised her head so that he could see the genuine apology in her eyes.  It stopped his hand from scratching a response on the paper in front of him.  “Yes, Miss. Romanov?”

 

“Director Fury I’d like to formally apologize for what I did to Commander Rogers and Mr. Stark, and for attempting to run away the times that I did.  It was foolish of me to think that I could escape such a powerful organization as Shield, and even more foolish to think that there would not be consequences.  You have been kind enough to offer me a position in your organization and I’m grateful for the opportunity, if you’ll still have me, Director.”  

 

The man behind the desk stopped and leaned back in his chair.  In spite of himself his lips curled into a smirk as he looked to Steve and Stark.  “Well done gentlemen.  Miss. Romanov, as of now you are on probation as an agent in training and are appointed Rogers’ personal soldier-servant. You are release from your detention cell on condition that you take up residence in your Commander’s quarters effective immediately.  You will report to the training room at 0600 every morning for training with your team and follow the schedule that will be given to you from there.  Don’t let me down again.”  

 

“Yes, Director,” she said as she bowed her head once more and stepped back a few times, not bothering to bring her head up to show off the pleased smile on her lips.  

 

Leaving Stark to finagle something with Fury, Steve practically dragged Nat down the hall in his haste to get back, and the moment the door had shut behind them to his room he pressed her hard up against the wall, crushing her beneath the weight of his body.  She winced a little as he crowded her left leg, which still smarted despite it having been a week since Stark had had his way with her, and he shifted, hitching her right one up around his hips as he rocked his pelvis into hers.  She groaned and pulled away from his lips as he trailed kisses and bites down her throat and collar, her own head tipping backwards as she let out a low whimper of a moan.  

 

“Don’t keep it in, kitten.  I want to hear you scream.” His order was a growl against her clavicle, and this time the whimper was louder, unrestrained, ripping through her lips and making her whole body vibrate.  It wasn’t often that she got to voice just how much he turned her on, but when she could she took complete advantage of it.  His fingers tore through the disposable tank top he’d dressed her in, throwing the shreds to the ground as he took her breasts one at a time in his mouth, nipping at her sensitive buds and the underside of her breasts just hard enough to make her shout.  He didn’t stop there, pulling the top of her pants down over the swell of her ass so he could grab a handful of it and balance her as he walked her over to the bed.  In a heartbeat her pants were on the ground and his mouth was on her cunt, licking and sucking as furiously as he had the first time he’d had her on her back.  She groaned and writhed beneath him, stopping only when he ordered her to grip the bedspread and stay still.  Still he allowed her to scream, and as the first orgasm rolled through her body it took all the energy she had to keep from rocking her hips up to meet his lips.  He was damn impressive at what he did and she was flipped onto her front in the strange lull after her orgasm, her head still spinning.  There was the flip of a cap and something cold was spread on her asshole, one finger slowly pressing past the ring of muscle.  She whimpered and bit the pillow as she tried not to resist it, the quickest flit of what Stark had done to her racing through her mind.  

 

No, this was about Steve, and he made sure she knew that as he added a second finger a few minutes later, scissoring them to stretch her out.  “You’re so damn tight, kitten,” he hissed.  “I fucking love it.  I can’t wait to be the first one to claim you here.  Are you excited?”

 

“Yes, master,” she moaned against the bedspread.  

 

“I can’t hear you,” he sing-songed as he added a third finger, stuffing her and thrusting upwards to make her shout.  

 

“Yes, master!” She shouted as she raised her head above the pillows so the noise could ring through the room.   He laughed and removed his fingers a little while later.  

 

“Good girl.  Now, relax.  Be a good kitten for me and let me in.”  It was the only warning he gave her as he aligned his cock with the now slightly-stretched hole, pressing in.  The burn was delicious and she whimpered, the noise broken as it filtered through her throat and her eyes clenched hard as she forced her body to relax.  She could do this, she thought as she breathed hard through her nose.  She had to.  It would make him so happy and--well, the idea already had her wet between the legs.  He pulled her hips up further so he could press harder into her, filling her up, before he thrust a few fingers on his other hand into her sopping wet cunt.  

 

“God above you feel so damn good, kitten.  I love how turned on you are by this.  You just love it when I take you, don’t you?  Love it when I force you to do what I want, don’t you?”

 

Again she shouted that she did, and he started to pick up the pace, alternating between fucking her ass with his cock and her pussy with his fingers. One of them brushed against her clit and it set her off without a moment’s notice, making her whole body shake and convulse as the second orgasm proved to be more intense than the last.  This time she brought Steve with her, though he growled and sunk his teeth into her shoulder as he did, filling her ass with his come.  He waited a moment to catch his breath before pulling away from her, laughing as she groaned, the emptiness almost more than she could bare as his fingers followed suit.  Without being prompted she turned slowly to face him and took his fingers to lick them clean, her eyes never leaving his all the while.  His grin was filthy and his kiss even more so as he leaned her back on the soft surface of his bed, biting his way down her body.  She was his, all his, forever and for always, and he could read it in the way she looked down at him and spread one hand through his hair, gripping it hard to pull him back up.  

 

“Watch yourself, kitten.”

 

“Make me, master.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is, folks! End part one. We both hope you liked it as much as we genuinely enjoyed writing it [even though it got hella dark there] and we've got so much more planned for this, so be sure to keep checking back! They'll all be uploaded as individual stories: some multi-chaptered like this and some brief interludes to get you through until we can update again =] Thanks so much for all the kudos, bookmarks, views, and comments <3


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